


There's Some Good in this World, Mr. Baggins

by vtforpedro



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, And then he's just kind of an asshole, Bilbo and Thranduil are tentative bros, Dwobbits, Fluff and Angst, Gold Sick Thorin, Hobbits Breed Like Rabbits, M/M, Mpreg, Thorin will come around, Thranduil is an ass but not as big of an ass as before, pre and post
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-09 15:23:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 75,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7807063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtforpedro/pseuds/vtforpedro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins was banished by Thorin Oakenshield in the throes of gold sickness for the theft of the Arkenstone. When the Battle ends and Thorin apologizes for his actions, he's still firm in his decision to keep the hobbit banished from Erebor, to never return. Never mind that they had fallen in love and dreamed of a future together already, never mind that Bilbo saved them all.</p><p>He leaves with a heavy heart but then those pesky hobbit secrets crop up on him and he, much to his dismay, realizes he's headed home with an unexpected addition. And Bilbo decides that the dwarf king really doesn't need to know about such a thing, for his sake and that of his future child. Hobbit secrets would stay in the Shire, thank you very much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I did not know Halflings had such a way about them.”  
  
“Oh? No? There is something you aren’t aware of in this world to flaunt under everyone’s noses?”  
  
A cough.  
  
Bilbo glanced to his left at Gandalf, the pest of a wizard, leaning heavily against his staff, eyeing the hobbit next to him with disapproval. If the way his eyes were twinkling, though, Bilbo felt he didn’t actually mind the barb toward the elf king.  
  
The hobbit turned his eyes back to Thranduil, who was still staring at him with a face so devoid of emotion Bilbo wondered if he might be able to draw some on him. Though, if he looked closely, it seemed as if the great haughty elf’s eyes may have narrowed almost imperceptibly. He cleared his throat, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace at the king draped along his tree of a throne, staring down his nose at them.  
  
“I’m sorry. I am not in the best of moods at the moment, though I think I have every right to not be, thank you. But I shouldn’t turn that on you, especially when I’m trying to ask for help for, er, my situation,” he apologized. The hobbit knew no matter what he would have to suck up to this pointy eared arrogant king. If dramatics were a corporeal thing, they would be Thranduil of Mirkwood! Of course that might be said for another king he knew. Also ridiculously arrogant and _cruel_.  
  
The elf watched him for another long moment before he arched one of his dark eyebrows. “Hormones,” he declared. His voice had become dull and bored but Bilbo could see through it and it caught him so completely off guard he was startled into a laugh. Who knew Thranduil was capable of teasing - the elf obviously meant no offense by it. If Bilbo had to guess, he would actually say the king wanted to know more.  
  
“Let’s chalk it up to those, yes,” the hobbit said with an inclination of his head. “Still, I apologize. I would be most thankful if you were to provide any advice for us on our way to Rivendell. Suspect I might have advanced along a bit by the time we get there. Us hobbits don’t tend to travel at all but especially not in my, er, condition.” He coughed into his fist, rocking on his heels before he clasped his hands tightly behind his back.  
  
Bilbo was trying to hold it together. He really was. Maybe no one would blame him if he had a good long cry - and he had, on two separate occasions with Gandalf on their way through Mirkwood - but he would not shed tears here. No indeed. The elf king already thought him an odd creature and seemed torn between locking him up in a glass jar or smashing him under his fancy boot.  
  
Admittedly, it was _hard_ to hold it together. Nothing had gone the way he thought it might, not on this entire journey. He might have suspected it started at the trolls but if he were entirely honest with himself, it had started the moment he had run through the Shire and caught up to a line of ponies covered with surly dwarves.  
  
It hadn’t been easy for him, no, and no one would disagree with that. His friends would vehemently swear it had been _very difficult_ for Bilbo Baggins to get used to, well… everything. No handkerchiefs, no decent kitchen or food, very little sleep, rambunctious dwarves who frayed at his nerves, _Thorin Oakenshield_. Yes, that last one was especially trying for him to get used to, considering it barked, swore, glared, and huffed at him for months. Also insulted, best not forget that. He had never been called Halfling so many times in his life!  
  
Of course it had all changed at Lake-town but the hobbit could not know that would happen - hindsight was wonderfully mocking but at the time he had been oblivious to it all. It was after the escape from _this_ blasted place that Bilbo suspected he and Thorin may have been standing on different ground.  
  
When he really thought about it, he was still embarrassed to note how they had continued to dance around each other. After their little river escapade in barrels, Bilbo had caught a terrible cold (of course) and the night they finally were housed with the Master he was sick as a dog and it was his birthday (naturally). The dwarf king had stayed by his side with both an endearing and entirely annoying amount of worry. He brought him hot food and tea, kept up a fresh stock of handkerchiefs from who-knew-where and told him many a story about Erebor as they both wistfully stared out of the window toward the Mountain. Bilbo often ruined an emotional climax by going into a sneezing fit which led into a coughing fit and then led into a Thorin fit.  
  
Then he hadn’t been so ill anymore. After those particularly nasty few days, he had started to feel immensely better and would sneak out (the king would not _let_ him go by himself if he knew the hobbit wanted to venture), exploring Lake-town and hearing tales from its citizens. One of those nights, when the only remaining remnant of his head cold was an irritatingly raspy voice, he had snuck back into the house and was immediately met with an angry ball of dwarf. Thorin lectured him about leaving with no guard and Bilbo pointed out they were most welcome in Lake-town and Thorin had informed him he could trust no one and Bilbo _may_ have called him paranoid and Thorin _may_ have broken down and begged Bilbo to not leave as he could not stand if anything happened to him because he needed him.  
  
Bilbo had insulted his royal line in return because it had produced a fool of a dwarf who needed to learn how to trust him and not treat him like a child. And then he had kissed that _fool of a dwarf._  
  
Thorin had carried him to his room and they spent the rest of the night attempting to coax Bilbo’s voice out from hiding. It was all well and good.  
  
Until Smaug.  
  
Until Erebor.  
  
They had set ruin to Lake-town and its citizens in a fiery blaze and if it weren’t for Bard the Bowman, they would likely be dead as well. But the dwarves still celebrated the defeat of the dragon and had begun to move through the Mountain, investigating its soundness on a basic level and seeing how far damage had extended otherwise. They also laid to stone the bones of Erebor’s people who did not escape the dragon’s wrath.  
  
It was a traumatizing experience for the hobbit and in the evenings when the Company finally settled down with each other, still not seeking out any rooms or separating, he felt entirely drained of emotion. Thorin attempted to soothe him but nothing had really worked until the king suggested he show Bilbo the Mountain, as it had been to him.  
  
So Bilbo followed Thorin, often hand in hand, as the king showed him wondrous caverns and great council chambers, halls that shimmered in firelight, underground natural hot springs that seemed to glow green, and then finally he had taken him to the royal halls, where he had been raised. It had taken one whole day and the hobbit had seen what he expected had been Prince Thorin, before the dragon and before the destruction of his home, his family. The king showed him his father and mother’s rooms, his sister’s, refused to step near his grandfather’s, and then finally had taken him to the rooms of the younger brother he had lost at Azanulbizar.  
  
The moment they had stepped into the chilly room, tinged grey from dust and time but ultimately sound otherwise, Bilbo knew that this was as much for Thorin as it was for him. The dwarf went quiet and seemed to get lost in memories as he walked the room in a circle, brushing his fingers along items that looked inconsequential to the hobbit, murmuring now and then in Khuzdul as he went.  
  
As Bilbo padded along after him, looking at personal items of a long dead brother, he was a bit startled to finally grasp that it was a room that belonged to someone very young. Not a child, but not quite full grown. Perhaps closer to a tween, if he could compare. The colors, while terribly faded, were once bright and cheery. There were messes on every surface, numerous yellowed papers with haphazard Khuzdul runes written on them (studies, Thorin had informed him) and many different forms of jewelry. Brooches, circlets, bracelets, necklaces, and more. Some were crude but very quickly increased in skill and Bilbo found himself at awe with the intricate work made from so many different metals and precious gems. Apparently Frerin found his craft in being a jeweler and he was exceptional at it.  
  
Thorin had smiled, looking very far away, and told him Frerin had the quickest and most capable hands of any dwarf he had known. Exquisite in his craft and at battle. His best talents had laid in wielding dual swords, much like Fili. The king murmured that he had never seen a bird fly or flames dance as naturally as his brother had been able to fight. But he still fell.  
  
The hobbit got no more out of Thorin in that room. His dwarf had collapsed onto his knees and cried - mourned for his brother, for everything he had lost. It broke Bilbo’s heart to see it and he had wondered if the king had ever allowed himself to grieve like so. They held each other in the middle of Frerin’s room until Thorin’s tears dried and they were able to move. Though they didn’t get much further into the hall before the dwarf had been yanking the hobbit into his old rooms.  
  
He didn’t get much of a tour of them either really, not until later - he had been swooped up and kissed so soundly he quite forgot where they were. Thorin had torn off his old bedding and pillows, musty and full of holes, until they reached the bare mattress and he had deposited his hobbit there. Bilbo still wasn’t entirely sure how they had been capable at the time but they had needed each other; they didn’t break their touch for even a second, clinging tightly and making sure the other was indeed real. They had joined in a way that was so passionate and filled with love he thought he had seen his future reflected back at him in blue eyes - it was a beautiful experience and they didn’t stop holding each other until morning.  
  
Thorin only spent four more nights with Bilbo. The exhaustion from their journey and from the work in the Mountain caught up to them and they collapsed into bed together at night and slept deeply until they had to resume their duties. The dwarf still clung to him as if he thought he may disappear when he wasn’t in his arms but when they left those rooms, he would change.  
  
It was subtle at first. Bilbo knew something was wrong but it wasn’t until Thorin began to refuse to leave the treasury that he knew some sickness had taken him. If the hobbit ventured in, he was often clothed in fine jewels that weighed him down but he feared to remove any given the way the king’s eyes would darken if he attempted to do so.  
  
And the king himself was draped in the finest furs, mail, jewels, the King’s Crown. It didn’t take long until Bilbo could no longer get him to look away from his gold long enough to eat and dark circles began to grow around his eyes as he chose to forego sleep. The gold had taken Bilbo’s place - Thorin feared it would disappear if he let it out of sight for even a moment.  
  
He stopped asking for his hobbit and Bilbo stopped going to him, instead begging the other members of the Company to help their king, to stop this madness. Balin had informed him it was just that - madness - and he was not sure they could pull him from it.  
  
Bilbo had hope, though, when Bard came to treat and Thorin finally left the treasury - he thought it a good thing, fresh air for him, until of course he had threatened to kill the Bowman for daring to ask for what the king had promised to give. No, his dwarf was quite gone he had realized then, and he began to think something more drastic might be needed to draw him back out.  
  
The Arkenstone, of course. Thorin coveted it above anything in the Mountain and would do anything for it. So the hobbit, the burglar that he now was, stole it and took it to Thranduil and Bard in an attempt to stop threats of war. It did not. When Thorin realized what he had done he had nearly taken Bilbo’s life and likely would have if Gandalf hadn’t interfered - the dwarf banished him from the Mountain and threatened death if he were to enter it again.  
  
The hobbit did not know how he had made it through the battles after, with orcs and goblins and worse, he did not know how he survived. Perhaps he had simply embraced the distraction of it all and with some luck had made it through relatively unscathed. Most of the Company did as well, he would learn when they had finally won, most but not all. Thorin had been grievously wounded in his battle with Azog and Bilbo did not take the news well - he cried and fretted and begged someone to tell him more until Balin had appeared and informed him the king wished to see him.  
  
The healers didn’t know if he would survive or not and from the looks of him, Bilbo couldn’t quite convince himself he would either. But Thorin had cupped his cheek and asked for forgiveness for his actions, he had apologized and implored his understanding of why the hobbit had done what he had done. Bilbo thought it might have ended there but Thorin had dropped his hand and emotions had slipped from his face so quickly the hobbit, in momentary alarm, thought the worst. It wasn’t the worst, but it crushed him nearly as badly.  
  
Thorin had looked at him and informed him that for all he understood and all his apologies, he had still committed a grievous offense - he had stolen from the king, from Erebor, and thieves weren’t tolerated. Bilbo had thought perhaps he was addled from what the healers had given him for pain but any of his attempts were shot down with growing anger from the dwarf. He had betrayed him - the one he loved betrayed him and stole from him and for all the good it did it didn’t erase the actions, the _principle_ of the matter. He would remain banished and Thorin wished him the very best in where he went and what he did with his life.  
  
So, he had left, heart on an icy pike in that tent, and sought out Gandalf. The wizard had a few choice words for the king but he had to wait until Thorin healed more to speak with him. The dwarf had pulled through and Bilbo was tremendously happy and he _foolishly_ hoped things would change. They didn’t and the king was even more adamant and stubborn about his banishment the more he was pestered about it, by either members of the Company or the wizard, who was angrier than the hobbit had ever seen him.  
  
He had finally burst into Dale in a whirl of grey robes, announced Bilbo would be returning with him to the Shire, and promised only pain and ruin lay behind him. If Thorin could dare say he understood and asked for forgiveness for himself but still banish the hobbit he loved, he was truly a fool and Bilbo did not deserve a fool. As much as it hurt him to agree with, he knew the truth of it and one month later they had set out from Dale and began the journey to the Shire.  
  
It was uneventful until they were more than halfway through Mirkwood with elven guards from Thranduil that Bilbo found himself too ill and exhausted to go further. He thought it may have been the diseased state of the forest (even if it was healing) that had been causing him to feel so awful. He retched most of his meals right back up and despite how tired he was, he could not sleep. He had a terrible back ache and really, all that traveling business was full of hogwash and he was quite fed up with it.  
  
And then because of _course_ he would realize such a thing at such a perfect moment, he put together what was going on with his own body. Of course! Of course he did. Of course he had not spoken to Thorin about it given his complete distraction and emotional state when he had been with the dwarf. He hadn’t even thought about it, the chance of it, not at all! Bilbo sat on the ground and cried into his knees in the middle of those great ugly trees, probably being eyed by hungry spiders, but he hadn’t cared. Gandalf had eventually rested his large hand over his forehead and murmured until the hobbit felt his despair easing enough for him to breathe and for him to explain.  
  
The wizard had stared at him through his bushy eyebrows, which drew closer and closer together the more he spoke before he harrumphed and promptly stormed off. Bilbo and the elven guard were confused and fairly alarmed until the wizard came back not fifteen minutes later, appearing on the other side of the path from where he had left, and had looked much more put together. He informed the hobbit they must turn back to seek advice with Thranduil about the road ahead and if the king could supply them with more… fitting items, be it herbs or foods or clothing. Bilbo hadn’t understood why they couldn’t just venture on to Rivendell for those things and Gandalf had looked at him as if he despaired for what his parents must have gone through, given how idiotic he clearly was, and a blushing hobbit ran back to Mirkwood with him.  
  
A few terribly long days later and they had been led back through this blasted elven palace and were taken to Thranduil straight away. Gandalf and Bilbo had haltingly explained the situation (the hobbit with many hand gestures and mumbling) to the elf king, who stared with that emotionless void of a face until he had declared he didn’t know ‘Halflings had such a way about them.’  
  
A pointed throat cleared from his left and the hobbit startled, swinging his gaze up toward Gandalf, blinking in confusion at him. He was staring down at the hobbit with concern and had clasped his hand around his shoulder. Bilbo realized he must have been staring off at nothing as he had taken to doing the past couple months and flushed, looking back at the king. He looked mildly amused, the monster.  
  
“Did you not hear me, Master Hobbit?” he asked with an arch of his brow. After a quick head shake from said hobbit, he swept up from his throne in a whirl of silver and red, glided down the warped tree and came to a stop in front of him. “I said he is a fool and he will likely never learn, arrogance and pride are bred too deeply into him.”  
  
Bilbo pursed his lips so he didn’t say he was confused, then, why they were not better friends. “Yes,” he muttered instead. “Yes, I suppose so. I would really rather not speak of him, your majesty, if you please.”  
  
Thranduil still looked amused and Bilbo quite wanted to turn and leave this place and never come back, no matter his state. He was sick of _kings_.  
  
“Very well,” the elf said with an inclination of his head, “then we shall not. Come, Master Hobbit, and I will have my healers examine you. We have no detailed texts of your kind in my kingdom but we will learn from you. Explain more of your state to me as we walk.”  
  
He glided down the perilous path (though nothing compared to Erebor, of course) and Bilbo hastened to follow him, Gandalf striding by his side. He wished he could say so many things. He was not to be learned from, not like some… some animal in the wild! He would very much like to keep some of his dignity in tact, thank you very much.  
  
“My ‘state’ is pregnant, which you already know,” he said in the most conversational tone he could muster. Thranduil would get that message, surely. “It’s much like hobbit lasses, really. Well, er, the whole babe part of it, at least. Everything else is, um, a bit different, actually. Oh goodness, I’ve never had to explain this to anyone before. I myself will not feed, so that should tell you a thing or two, and the nasty business is much the same as any females I’ve heard of, among different races. There are changes that occur as my… child grows, given that I’m male and all. My body adjusts to its growing size as it needs to which is going to include many aches and pains for me, but I suppose that’s just how it goes.”  
  
He cleared his throat, attempting to get rid of the hoarseness that had appeared when he realized he was talking about his child. A child he was currently carrying, a child he would bring into this world and raise - a child given to him by Thorin Oakenshield. Bilbo swallowed.  
  
“Um, I haven’t got a clue what changes might come with it being… half dwarf. Never heard of such a thing, though perhaps good Bullroarer Took had some dwarf in him! Able to ride a horse and everything. What with all that four foot and some inches nonsense. Though I quite doubt it,” he rambled, gesturing with his arms before he huffed as he heard Thranduil let an amused little noise out of his long pale neck. “Yes, well. I don’t know how this will change things. I know nothing of dwarven pregnancies.”  
  
“It is a good thing I do then,” the elf announced, deep voice carrying through his open kingdom. “As much as I wish I did not. I have been present at the birth of some due to unfortunate circumstances and learned of their carrying process. There are not many differences across races. Gestation is an average of ten months for a dwarf but there are known to be complications when birthing one. That lies mostly in their mothers and the stresses their bodies go through in an attempt to bring the child into the world. It is in their makeup. Mothers die during childbirth and often bring their young with them. It is more common in dwarves than others. Elves have no such problems.”  
  
Bilbo glared at the back of his head. “Well this one is going to be hobbit and dwarf, so I’ll worry about that for right now. So they carry a bit longer than us. Oh, I don’t even want to imagine… we’re normally just shy of nine months. Of course some fauntlings come late and have a _very_ grumpy disposition when they finally come ‘round. I don’t know the effect it might have on me if I have to go ten months, hopefully my body will sort itself out for it? The babe being half hobbit and all?” he posed his question with a small squeak as he realized _no one had ever done this before._  
  
Great. Well, he had been through situations no hobbit had ever been through before already, might as well tack this one down for the experience.  
  
“Given the sire I would not doubt a longer gestation period than you would normally expect but perhaps a less difficult birth. He is not small of stature, for a dwarf. Alas, his mother had no such issues bringing her children into the world from what I recall. I do not believe there will be many difficulties we can foresee from his side but on yours I cannot say,” Thranduil said, leading them down a brightly lit hall, the walls made from twisted and twined branches. Wherever they were, it was close to the top of the tree line given the natural sunlight filtering through thickets of leaves above them. Bilbo might appreciate it any other day or… lifetime perhaps.  
  
“Very rare for us hobbits to have difficulties at all. I’m an oddity, being an only child, you know. Some hobbits simply keep having fauntlings until they have no more room for them in their smials! Imagine! Ten fauntlings, I don’t know how they do it. But we are indeed a fertile race and the worst of it for us are the overlong gestations but from what I’ve heard, um, that more just leads to a long and painful labor. Oh _Eru,”_ he whispered to himself, swallowing and brushing sweat from his brow.  
  
Gandalf patted him on the shoulder and that was very much his undoing.  
  
“I cannot do this, Gandalf, I _cannot!_ I cannot have a child! I’m not ready for one and I didn’t ask for it, though I am well aware it’s quite my fault I’m with one right now! But I _cannot_ carry, I _cannot_ give birth and I _cannot_ raise a child that is half him! Do I tell him? Should I march back to Erebor and inform that clothead he’s going to be a father? If I’m not dodging the arrows he’s pelting at me for trespassing at least! What do I do? Why should I tell him? He cast me out as if I were _nothing_ and- and I _can’t do this by myself!”_  
  
“My dear boy. You will do this but you will never be by yourself,” Gandalf murmured as he kneeled next to Bilbo where they had come to a sudden stop. “We will not worry about Thorin Oakenshield at this present moment. We will concern ourselves with where you are today and move along from here. I have seen you show courage beyond what I had ever expected and heart beyond any other I have met in my long life! I ask that you should remember those things for today and the rest will follow. For now, we must ensure you are healthy.”  
  
Bilbo sniffled, wiping angrily at his cheeks. He was quite tired of crying by now - could a hobbit not get a bit of a breather in over a year? Was that too much to ask?  
  
“Confound him and confound all of them, Gandalf! I wish I had never met the lot of them,” he said, gesturing angrily toward the east. Gandalf huffed out a hard sigh.  
  
“I fear that I have put you in this situation. I never wished such a thing for you and I am sorry you find yourself in such peril. But you are not alone and you will not be again.”  
  
“Yes, I’m permanently stuck with another for a while yet. 33, 34 years perhaps,” Bilbo mumbled, flinching at the very thought of it. He was not ready. If he was ready for anything, it would be a good many plates of supper, a hot bath, and a very soft feather pillow. “I truly don’t know how I can do this.”  
  
“One day at a time, my boy, one day at a time,” Gandalf said, standing with an alarming amount of crackling noises.  
  
King Thranduil had his hands clasped behind his back and was watching them with a slight head tilt, as if they were a somewhat interesting pair of gerbils. “Come, Master Hobbit, _Mithrandir_. We have a room ready and you will be able to rest,” he finally monotoned and Bilbo wondered if maybe he could see his weariness a bit more than the wizard. Or - and he couldn’t believe he was thinking this - cared a bit more about it at that moment than having him examined.  
  
The hobbit straightened himself out, adjusting his dirty clothing and drying his eyes. “Right. Right, lead on then, if you will,” he said, gesturing forward and the elf inclined his head. Bilbo very much saw his quirking lips and vowed to himself he would not draw emotions with a quill but rather with some humor. If the elf king was going to be as intimate with his anatomy as he suspected, he might as well make it as awkward as possible for the both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm not entirely sure about this one (save me from mpreg I need to move on) but I like what I have so far. I feel like it may turn into a Lifetime romantic drama later on tho and I'm not sure how I feel about that. Cough. Should it be, do we care, idk. What do you think? There will also be some mild Thorin hate as much as that pains me because he is such a precious bean.
> 
> I started this a few days ago because I was in an angsty mood. I had to put my dog down and I'm so crushed by it. So, furious keyboard smashing commenced and this appeared.
> 
> I just really love Thranduil is that so wrong


	2. Chapter 2

The hobbit found himself lying on a wonderfully soft bed in a very warm room, colored in creams, shades of green, and natural wood. It was entirely beautiful and he was entirely upset about it.  
  
“I would have offered you such a room had you shown yourself when first in my kingdom,” Thranduil announced as he stared down his nose at Bilbo. The hobbit glared back up at him.  
  
“You would have locked me in a cell like the rest, let’s be honest, shall we?”  
  
“You would have intrigued me then as you do now.”  
  
“I _said_ let’s be honest. You’re only intrigued because I’m pregnant. Like a fauntling who catches his first grasshopper!”  
  
“Is this a hobbit tradition?”  
  
“A hobbit- hobbit _tradition?_ ” Bilbo spluttered, staring up at the elf in horror. What did that even mean, _hobbit tradition?_  
  
The king arched a brow at him and smirked his oily little smirk and Bilbo groaned, dropping his head back onto his pillows. “I am pregnant, do not tease me,” he mumbled, making a shooing motion at the blasted elf.  
  
It was his fifth day there and two before he and Gandalf would set off once more, with haste. They had a timeline they had created and planned to follow as well as they could in an attempt to get him home to the Shire before travel began to be too dangerous. It was winter now as well, of course, because well- of course it was.  
  
And Bilbo was quite tired of being poked and prodded at, thank you. The elves were endlessly fascinated with him, murmuring to themselves in Sindarin about how odd he was, look at his large furry feet, they did not believe hobbits had them until they had seen them, where did hobbits put their excessive food intake? On his third day, he spoke solely Sindarin just to watch their horrified faces and _to_ _watch them squirm._ They could put that into their texts, yes, hobbits could indeed learn another language if they wished.  
  
That evening when King Thranduil had come to visit him, he had simply stood at the end of his bed with one eyebrow raised until Bilbo was the one squirming and apologizing for not informing them he could yes, very much understand everything they said. And asked to not be called ‘cute’ once more or he would begin to shout all the tidbits of gossip he had learned.  
  
When he felt soft fingers drift over a rather sensitive area on his thighs, he let out a high-pitched giggle, unable to help it. “Er, yes, tickles,” he blurted out, face hot when the elven healer had glanced at him in confusion. She simply rolled her eyes and went back to work - she was doing that more and more often.  
  
Thranduil snorted, which was an entirely unattractive noise from him and Bilbo enjoyed coaxing it out. “We can add ticklish to the ever-growing list of hobbit traits,” he said. “Most strange creatures that you are.”  
  
“You know, I believe you’ve called me a strange creature thirteen times since I’ve come to be here. That’s a record and I spent over a year with _dwarves_ , who can insult better than you can wear that crown, that’s for sure,” Bilbo muttered, waving his hand toward the elf’s head.  
  
Thranduil’s smirk fell off his face and he frowned, brows drawing together as he stared down at the hobbit, who stared innocently back up at him. “I can revert to Halfling, if you wish it,” he finally said in that oddly dead voice of his.  
  
“Goodness, I’ve made you pout. No, I suppose strange creature will do. Are we quite done here? I’d like to get dinner if it’s all the same to you. I don’t know what you could possibly find on my person that you haven’t already seen hundreds of times by now! I assure you, nothing will be changing very drastically, not in the way you think, not until much further along,” he informed them, waggling his finger at the elf maid as she raised an unimpressed brow at him, then went to clean her hands.  
  
He distinctly heard her whisper something about how he was entirely unimpressive anyway and scoffed as she walked through the door. “As if you suddenly forgot I can understand you! Not that one again, Thranduil, I think she’s holding quite a grudge against me and I can’t figure out what I’ve done. I half expect her to smother me in my sleep,” he huffed out, crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
“I cannot imagine why she would do such a thing,” the elf king said drily, stepping back two paces and giving him room to clamber off his bed. He did so with great fervor, pulling his clothes back on to a more respectable state before they strode from the room together.  
  
Bilbo actually found that Mirkwood wasn’t so terrible when he wasn’t sneaking around, invisible and starved and exhausted. And exchanging messages for dwarves. And being pawed at by Thorin every time he went to see him, as if he might have been stabbed and not noticed.  
  
The hobbit shook himself from that memory. Not that it lasted long - he thought of Thorin constantly, no matter how he tried to distract himself. It was natural, given it had been less than two months since he had last seen the dwarf, and… well, he was also carrying his child, so yes, natural. But it didn’t mean he wanted to think about him. It caused a frog in his throat and blurred vision because he _loved that idiot_ and look at what he had done to him! Cast him out, despite thanking him for doing _what he cast him out for_. Yavanna’s acorns and leaves, he would be happy never meeting another dwarf in his life. Not that he would in the Shire.  
  
Right. The Shire. Home, even though he didn’t want it to be. Erebor held his heart now and the dwarf along with it and he did not wish to be separated from either. But Thorin Oakenshield had clearly expressed how he truly felt about the hobbit and well- it said enough, didn’t it?  
  
But still, Mirkwood wasn’t so bad. Once he was able to get past the low light from the walls and trees surrounding him, he was able to see the beauty of the kingdom. It wasn’t as freeing and peaceful as Rivendell, but he still appreciated it. And it’s library! He enjoyed the library very much and when he wasn’t being poked at, he was almost always in there. He had begun to realize it was not a coincidence the second day when the elf king wandered in shortly after him and greeted him as if he didn’t expect him to be there for the third time - kings were not subtle, did they not realize this? So he endured conversation with King Thranduil for hours and well, honestly, he wasn’t all that terrible either.  
  
Once he got past the peacocking, _complete_ snottiness, and biting remarks about dwarves whenever possible, Bilbo realized he was actually just a taller and more pompous version of Thorin. Less attractive and with far less warmth perhaps, but still. He had suggested to the elf they were really quite alike and if they tried, they could be very good friends. He had been left alone for the remainder of that evening - served him right, the pointy-eared curmudgeon.  
  
Thranduil led him to where they had dined the last three evenings and Bilbo eagerly collapsed into his hobbit-sized chair and reached for the nearest piece of bread. The elf king watched him with no hidden amount of distaste as he put a rather large amount of butter onto it. “Once you live without butter for months at a time, you’d do the same, believe you me,” he informed the elf, waggling the bread toward him.  
  
The king shook his head, hair falling over his shoulder in just the way he likely planned it as he lifted his wine cup and drank from it. Bilbo didn’t know how he did it, but he managed to take over an entire room and suck most of the life out of it until it was slowly allowed to be aired back in. The elf was entirely too long-limbed and fair and the hobbit wondered if he ever relaxed his posture in a way that was not oozing haughtiness.  
  
He would miss the elf, for all his bad qualities - he had more good to make up for them after all. Bilbo had no idea what it was about he himself but most tended to be open with him in their emotions and thoughts and it seemed the king was no different. He had moaned and whined like a tween when he spoke of his actions the day Smaug came. If it hadn’t been such a terrible subject that the hobbit could actually sympathize with him on to a certain degree, he would have been reduced to a snickering mess. Yes, he found a fondness for Thranduil of Mirkwood, much as he didn’t mean to.  
  
“Will you tell him?” the king asked without preamble and Bilbo was quickly rethinking that fondness.  
  
“Tell who what?” he asked, just to be a pain, because this was a subject he had vehemently told the king he did not want to speak of. He munched on his bread, staring moodily down at his empty plate before he realized it was indeed empty and began to pack it full of food. Thranduil did not say anything else but Bilbo knew if he attempted to change subjects it would be like interrupting someone mid-sentence and that was very rude indeed.  
  
He sighed. “I don’t know,” he ground out. “I’ve told you. I really don’t know. Why should I? He didn’t care about me and he’d probably feel some misplaced sense of responsibility for this and try to keep me and my child prisoner in that big hunk of rock. Like we were possessions and not his _family.”_  
  
Thranduil watched him from over the rim of his wine cup, icy blue eyes raking up and down along his face. He had found it unnerving just four days ago but now he was most unimpressed with it, so he simply continued to eat, waiting for the king to speak his part.  
  
“I would tell you I agree but that would be false. While a dwarf is possessive in belongings, in family they are… protective. They covet young. He would likely ask you remain there to raise the child but I cannot say how he would treat you. The child would do well, as far as its health goes,” he murmured into his cup and Bilbo shot him a flat look.  
  
“But would be half a dwarf and therefore bound to a horrible existence, yes, thank you. I know how they feel about children, you know. I very much do. I also know how they feel about the ones they ‘love’ and if he had loved me the way dwarves supposedly do, he wouldn’t have banished me. _Thorin_ is the one who explained how a dwarf loves after all,” he muttered unhappily, tearing into a second piece of bread with great vigor. “And my offense shouldn’t even be considered one in his mind.”  
  
Thranduil inclined his head toward him as he set aside his wine. “I believe I told you he is a fool. What you did with the Arkenstone was brave and the only choice you had before you lest you risk watching him fall to his madness. Sadly you did not want that,” he said, his lips quirking when Bilbo scowled at him. “What you did was logical and he is anything but. I believe one day the King Under the Mountain will realize what he has done. I wonder what he will do then.”  
  
The hobbit sighed as he set his bread aside, warring between feeling sick or hungry. They were so interchangeable these days. “Either destroy Middle Earth on his way to steal me away or write me a letter and send a pile of gold,” he said quietly, sending a wry smile the king’s way. “Might include an emerald, told him I could tolerate those best out of all that shimmering nonsense. I find if a dragon is attracted to what you hoard and kills your people for it perhaps you should not hoard such things anymore. I will never understand dwarves or elves. Yes, yes, gems of starlight, your people, I know.” He glared at Thranduil as the king opened his mouth to protest.  
  
“My point still stands. All it did was attract evil and get a whole lot of innocents killed. And made fools of everyone else - including me,” Bilbo continued, deciding he was indeed hungry and dug into his venison. “He sang a song, you know. Well, he started one and the rest of the Company followed him into it. Back in my hobbit-hole in the Shire. I had told them no and thank you about all of this rubbish but when I heard him singing about the Mountain they were going to attempt to retake and about the day Smaug came, winds moaning, trees like torches blazed with light, what have you; that’s what got me into this, hearing how sad they all were, dreaming about their forgotten home and remembering that day. And _gold_. If I had thought more on it, I might have thought the wish for gold in his blasted song was a warning sign of what was more important on the quest.”  
  
The hobbit felt his nose twitch as he took another bite of food, staring down at his plate. “Didn’t think much of it on the Road or when I heard more about the day Smaug came. _Why_ he came. I didn’t think of it until I saw the way Thorin looked at it. Then I remembered that tidbit in his song about gold and felt like a fool for helping dwarves continue to be as greedy as they’ve always been.”  
  
“You could not have known. You did not know the madness that lay in the line of Durin. You did what you thought right and that is more than most would do,” Thranduil said as he began to cut at his own venison. Bilbo side-eyed him, wondering if the king was thinking about his own failings in doing what was ‘right.’  
  
“Maybe. But I don’t feel any better for it. It still ended up a mess,” he said with a shrug. “Even Smaug told me Thorin would fall to the Arkenstone. _Smaug!_ The big ugly brute knew it would happen and happen it did. And I helped all along the way.”  
  
Thranduil gave such a sigh Bilbo would put it in the long-suffering department. “You could not have known,” he repeated, raising an eyebrow at the hobbit. “You made your choices as they were presented before you, as we all do. Very few of us have the foresight in which to see what may or may not happen given the consequences of our actions. You could predict nothing of great import on your quest.”  
  
Bilbo squinted at the elf, stuffing another piece of venison in his mouth and chewing grumpily at it. “My king, I consider you a friend at this point and I believe you feel the same way. So, as a friend, I ask you to let me moan in self-pity and feel sorry for myself without telling me why I shouldn’t,” he said, grabbing a cup full of water and taking a large gulp.  
  
The elf stared at him for a good long moment before he turned back to his own meal, waving gracefully with his left hand in an ‘as you were’ sort of way. A very well practiced one, too. At least that’s what Bilbo thought.  
  
“Thank you,” he said, nodding in satisfaction. “So Smaug told me that and told me Thorin found my life worth nothing! Now I know what the dragon was trying to do, mess with my head and whatnot, as dragons _are_ wont to do, but it still happened. And I find that to be an odd coincidence! I think the blasted dwarf was already falling to the gold sickness just standing near that mountain but I hoped when he was cured of it Smaug’s words wouldn’t hold a lick of truth anymore. Obviously I was wrong and now here I am. Stuck on a journey back to a place I don’t want to be with a cranky wizard and a child growing in my belly! Of which I also did not want! Although I am very eager to meet my little one!”  
  
Thranduil looked between Bilbo, his cup, and his dinner as he spoke, his only reaction a small twist of his lips when the hobbit stopped speaking. “I hope the young you have does not take after the dwarf,” he said simply and the hobbit groaned, collapsing back in his chair. “The dragon knew the evil the gold held and made assumptions in an attempt to goad you into a reaction to be put into such a position in which he could easily kill you. It is the way of them. Even as they lie and attempt to warp your mind it is done with a dose of enough truth that ensure you fall for their deceptions. The dwarf easily could not have fallen had he listened to sense but he chose not to. He is, as he ever was, a fool. He has love for you but values his pride far more. A fault in which many of us have.”  
  
Bilbo watched him as sipped at his water. The king’s eyes had fallen back to his own cups and the hobbit could see a line of tension in his brow - he wondered at which point during all of this that Thranduil had gained some humility. At least he was tolerable this way.  
  
“Well. I suppose so, even if that was you not letting me feel sorry for myself. But yes, that seems to be a fault in most kings and really, anyone with any sort of power! I am glad in these moments that I am a hobbit and don’t have to fool around with such balderdash. Even if it makes it terribly painful to watch pride take over love,” he mumbled, turning to his greens next. “Well, I shall not be getting to know anymore kings in my life, they are far more trouble than they are worth.”  
  
“And I had hoped you would make a home here,” Thranduil said in that dull tone of his. Bilbo stuck his tongue out at him. “You are most welcome, Master Hobbit.”  
  
“Oh, am I? Are you sure that isn’t just because Thorin would eventually get wind of a hobbit staying in Mirkwood and you could get one over on him?”  
  
“An added benefit.”  
  
Bilbo snorted, rolling his eyes. “Like children you are. All of you. No, I think I’m going to go back West, where everything makes sense and is peaceful. You are more than welcome to come visit me in my hobbit-hole for that is where I will remain. Myself and my child, where our only worries are tending the garden and staying out of the rumor mill,” he said with a firm nod of his head. “Well, I suppose if an elf king comes traipsing through I _will_ be the rumor mill.”  
  
The king’s lips turned up at the corners and he gently shook his head. “Perhaps one day, Bilbo Baggins, I will come to your Shire. I should like to see where you strange creatures make your home,” he said, lifting his cup toward Bilbo.  
  
“You will be the strange creature if you come and I will take great joy in reminding you of it,” Bilbo declared, clinking his cup to Thranduil’s.  
  
——  
  
Bilbo and Gandalf left Mirkwood two days later with a guard of six elves this time instead of two. The hobbit thought it excessive given the main road of travel was largely safe but he appreciated the gesture from the king nonetheless. And he was rather loaded up on healthy foods, special herbs, and warm elven clothing. He thought he looked a bit ridiculous in the silvery garb Thranduil had given him but he knew he would look at it often in his closet and smile, knowing it belonged right there.  
  
The journey through the forest was entirely uneventful now and when they finally emerged from the suffocating trees, Bilbo found he was bored. Their next destination was Beorn’s, not to stay but to stop and thank him for the help he had given them - he had saved their lives more than once. Despite the frightening nature of the skin-changer he had seemed rather taken with the hobbit.  
  
Which was why, after he had insisted they stay two days for rest, Bilbo was happy to leave. He was called ‘little bunny’ and lifted off his feet far too many times, thank you. And when Gandalf had ever so blatantly let it slip that the hobbit was pregnant, he had endured endless questions and endless pampering. When the skin-changer asked of the father and Bilbo barely managed to choke it out, Beorn seemed to put two and two together himself and had stormed off into the woods in his anger on the hobbit’s behalf.  
  
It was altogether mortifying.  
  
Bilbo was not sure how, really, but Gandalf had produced a horse seemingly out of his pocket during the first night after they had left Beorn’s and while Bilbo was asleep. He was a lovely grey stallion that was to be treated _with respect, Bilbo Baggins,_ the wizard had informed him when the hobbit balked. When he asked how he managed to get a horse when, as far as he knew, no towns or cities were around, Gandalf had simply said he was an old friend, which was entirely confusing. He decided not to push the issue and after riding when he realized he was able to rest his feet, he was quite pleased with the odd turn of events.  
  
Shadowfax, apparently, only needed to be told where to go and he simply… went. It must have been a wizard thing, communicating with horses. They went a bit further north along the mountains to avoid what they knew was goblin infested (and Gollum infested) territory and Shadowfax seemed to find a well-traveled and easy pass through besides. As easy as it could be anyway. When they finally began to see the world opening to them, the horse had abruptly stopped, whinnied and Gandalf plucked Bilbo off of him, promptly wished his old friend a safe travel back, and they hoofed it the rest of the way to Rivendell themselves.  
  
After all was said and done, it was nearly another month after he had left Dale by the time they arrived. His nausea seemed to be gone and was replaced with back and hip pains that he was already quite fed up with. He also felt himself grow more moody and teary as he went and when he thought about it, he didn’t think it was all ‘hormones’ anymore as Thranduil had suggested. Every day took him further from Thorin. The father of his unborn child. The dwarf didn’t know because Bilbo deemed it unnecessary - he would not fight over where and how the child should be raised. It was a hobbit gift and he would remain in the Shire and raise his child as a hobbit as well.  
  
Three months. Three months since he had laid with Thorin, just over two since he had seen him. After so long and after all they had been through, it was a constant ache in his chest, a piece of him missing and the rest not knowing what to fill the hole with.  
  
Rivendell was such a welcome sight he had cried quite heartily at it, Gandalf murmuring comforts as they entered the city, promising that they would find the comfort he needed there. The time to recoup and time to plan what he would do through the rest of his pregnancy in the Shire.  
  
Lord Elrond was as gracious a host as he had been on their first visit but when he had looked at Bilbo with such sadness in his eyes upon hearing of how he came to be in his predicament, the hobbit had a hard time meeting his gaze for a good while after. Shockingly, Lord Elrond had known of male hobbits’ ability to carry and produced a few very old tomes from his library, filled with a surprising amount of knowledge on his kind. The elf had explained with a smile that he and his mother were not the first hobbits to have traveled there and others had allowed some of their ways to be recorded. Considering Lord Elrond was considered the best healer in all of Middle Earth, it made sense to Bilbo that a hobbit may have trusted the elves with that knowledge.  
  
It had proven immensely helpful as they worked out the likelihood of the time of gestation, any complications that might arise during pregnancy or in birth, any different needs the babe might require, and what to expect of how his child would grow to be. Lord Elrond assumed the child would live to an older age than hobbits - not only was it half dwarf but of the line of Durin, which was famous for their well-lived kin.  
  
Bilbo felt quite a bit better about concerns for his child and his own wellbeing during all of this but it did nothing to soothe the pain of being in the situation at all. Lord Elrond seemed to understand as much and gave the hobbit some time to digest everything. He spent most of it absorbed in the library reading as many books as he could get his hands on, taking great joy in it. The elves brought him meals without his asking at all times in which hobbits ate and while it made him entirely flustered, he had been very touched by it - though he made them swear to simply fetch him if he lost track of time and he would come dine with those he was making friends with.  
  
After some time, Lord Elrond began to visit him with more frequency and unlike another elf he knew, he was courteous and asked questions that would not cause unnecessary pain. Bilbo found himself unloading all of his troubles before he could help himself as he felt a close bond was developing between them. They learned much from each other and had enjoyed stimulating conversations the hobbit had never been able to have in his life.  
  
The elf once again offered him a place in Rivendell and Bilbo very nearly took it before he realized he _needed_ to raise his child in the Shire. But he thanked Lord Elrond sincerely and thought that maybe, when he grew older, he just might come to retire in the elven city. He made Lord Elrond swear he wouldn’t grow too old without him because one of them should remain spry enough to make sure they could still put up with each other.  
  
To Bilbo’s surprise, he stayed another month and a half in Rivendell, Gandalf coming and going during the visit. Sometimes the wizard would come back quite jovial and others he would come back in a storm of frustration or anger and when Bilbo attempted to ask about it, all he received was a sharp look and mutter of ‘wizard business, Bilbo Baggins’ and said no more. Considering that could mean a many number of things and most he would not understand, he did not push it again.  
  
Then it was time to leave. Bilbo’s belly was beginning to visibly show in all of his clothes. The more it grew, the more that joy filled his being but despair filled his heart. It was possible to feel depressed while also feeling elated, wasn’t it? Either way, it was a storm and he continued to rue the day he had met the King Under the Mountain.  
  
Lord Elrond provided a carriage for travel as horseback would likely not be the wisest of choices. Gandalf also seemed quite happy to not be riding and had very eagerly taken over the reins of the lovely dappled grey horse pulling it. The elf had also gifted his sons as traveling companions to ensure Bilbo’s safety. He had cried big fat hobbit tears and thanked his very good friend with much fondness.  
  
They set off toward the Shire, the last leg of their journey, and Bilbo was at least beginning to feel… safe. Travel still concerned him after all of the nonsense during the trip to Erebor and he thought that justified. However, Elrohir and Elladan strongly reminded him of Fili and Kili on some days - it both warmed and broke his heart. He had grown very fond of the lads and missed them dearly, especially when they had shown so much anger on his behalf for his continued banishment.  
  
Kili had grown so upset he cried, not out of sadness, but out of complete frustration, ranting about his idiot of an uncle and if this was his first order in Erebor, he would not make a good king at all. Fili expressed the same disappointment as he held tight to his brother’s shoulder, embracing Bilbo in his free arm. He wasn’t just fond of them, he quite loved the lads as if they were his own family - rather thought they might be at some point.  
  
But the twins of Lord Elrond’s were playful and teasing in their own way, a bit more subdued than the dwarves, but they made up for it in how they teased. It was often impromptu archery contests which had frayed on Gandalf’s nerves until he had finally burst out something along the lines of _they should like to not be delayed any further, you fools!_  
  
They had simply found new ways to grate on Gandalf’s nerves, much to the hobbit’s endless amusement. Then finally, _finally_ they traveled through Bree and reached the borders of the Shire. The elven twins asked if their assistance was needed any further and the wizard had barked ‘I should think not’ and sent them on their way back home.  
  
Green. Green forests, trees set just enough apart to be comfortable, not stifling or leaving him feeling vulnerable. The grass began to grow thicker and before he knew it, rolling hills laid out before him and he could see some lazy smoke drifting into the air from fireplaces lit in smials, hobbits perhaps cooking a meal or smoking their pipes as they relaxed in front of a fire. It hit him then, that he was in a place he could feel safe, he could feel wanted and loved (by most) and perhaps he would be okay. In time, he would be okay. Time healed all, as they said. _Didn’t mean it didn’t leave scars behind,_ Bilbo often thought bitterly.  
  
He rode discreetly in the carriage as Gandalf took it all the way to Bag End, to save him from nosy neighbors and relatives. He did not need his state to be common knowledge before he had even stepped foot into his home. In fact, he would be quite alright with not seeing any other hobbit for a few days yet.  
  
When Gandalf deemed the coast was clear, he led the hobbit to his smial and Bilbo pushed his door open for the first time in a year and a half. He made a broken little noise in his throat as he stumbled a few feet in, looking at everything just the way he had left it. It _was_ home, he did not have one where he was not welcome - this was the home Bungo had built for Belladonna and raised him in. He would do the same for the child beginning to make its presence known inside of his stomach a bit more often these days.  
  
After a quick walk-through of his home, along with a few tears, he hastily made a sign to hang from his gate. ‘Very ill from traveling, no admission until recovered.’ That might earn him some peace, perhaps not completely, but some. Gandalf put it up for him and Bilbo began to slowly bring life back to his smial, lighting fires and candles and lanterns, the warm orange glow reflecting off of his still-shining wood. Hamfast had been hastily asked to keep an eye on the place and he went quite out of his way it seemed, to keep it clean. Bilbo would have to make him and his family a very fine meal with much ale and many sweets to boot. He owed them more but he would figure that out in time.  
  
He also owed Gandalf quite a bit and when he tried to express as much, the wizard simply smiled at him, eyes twinkling and declared his friendship quite enough of a gift, one which he should cherish with all his heart.  
  
The wizard promised he would stay for a week to help him settle and inform midwives of his state along with the advice elves had given to help the birthing process. The rest Bilbo felt he could deal with on his own and in fact very much _needed_ to.  
  
And life in the Shire went on, much as it always had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters because I want to see if this is heading in a decent enough direction. >_> There will be a time jump next chapter and if anyone can give their opinion I would appreciate it: Spoiler Alert, it'll be a boy. I don't want Frodo much as I adore him, but I can't decide between Folco or Falco. Anyone? Any other name suggestions are welcome, not sure why this one is giving me a hard time!


	3. Chapter 3

Five and a half years later, Bilbo found himself on his hands and knees in his garden, tending to new vegetables and flowers that had been planted for the season. They were growing with great vigor and he was indeed pleased.  
  
“My beets are growing in better than yours, Papa,” a little voice said from beside him to ruin his pleasure and he moved his gaze to his son’s beloved plant.  
  
He would not be jealous of his child but honestly, it shouldn’t have doubled in size and looked much healthier than his own. “That they are, my boy, that they are. You will have to tell me your secrets in beets-growing,” he announced, conceding victory to his son.  
  
“A hobbit never reveals his gardening secrets,” Folco declared with all the haughtiness of a five year old. Bilbo shot him the stink-eye.  
  
“I believe a fauntling owes his father his secrets for his father gave him life into this wonderful world and deserves some appreciation for that,” he said, turning back to finish planting his blanketflower. He was quite eager to see the flowers that looked like small, painted suns decorating the garden here and there, mixed in with splashes of purples, blues, pinks, reds, and whites. His late spring garden was one of his favorites - it ensured Bag End would be the popular home of butterflies and many a bird throughout the summer. Hummingbirds were a particular favorite nowadays.  
  
Folco gave a long-suffering sigh. “Maybe,” he allowed. “I don’t mind telling you if I can have an orange scone first.”  
  
Bilbo let out a laugh, unable to help it as he looked back at his son. His beautiful boy, who was proudly sporting honey curls and startlingly blue eyes. The angles in his face were more sharp than the average hobbit and his pointy nose was rather unique, albeit familiar to Bilbo. He was the same height as the majority of other fauntlings his age but his father felt that would likely show he’d inherit a certain dwarf’s stature - he himself and Bungo had both been the shortest in their age groups until their mid-tween years.  
  
Folco was, as any parent would say about their child, altogether perfect.  
  
“Excuse me, but I will not be _bargained_ with. I am far above that, as are you,” he said, waving his trowel in the air as he sat back on his haunches. His son let out another sigh as he moved to copy his father’s position, wiping sweat from his brow in a very exaggerated way, smearing soil all along his forehead as he did so.  
  
“Orange scones are a good trade for garden secrets, Papa. See, a sticky bun might not be fair ‘cause it takes longer to make them and beets are real easy to plant. I can show you,” Folco said, giving three quick nods of his head.  
  
“I am terrified for the day you become a tween, goodness gracious. You are already too smart for your own good! Fine, go, go clean yourself and get an orange scone and we’ll discuss the secrets of our beloved garden,” Bilbo said, waving his son away. He received a blinding grin in return as the boy hopped up and dashed off with youthful energy, giggling as he went.  
  
“I said clean up first, you rascal, do not go into that kitchen until you do!” the hobbit called after him, huffing and shaking his head. Now he would have soil all along his floors. Better than mud, he supposed.  
  
Bilbo packed his garden together a bit more soundly before he himself stood, brushing soil from his trousers and knees as he did so. He gathered up his gardening tools and put them away proper before he stretched his aching back with a pleased groan, blinking his eyes open wide before he gave a great big yawn. It was a sleepy day in the Shire, no particularly special events going on, and the warming days were causing a feeling of general bliss and laziness throughout its inhabitants. If they weren’t eating or gardening, most hobbits could be found napping in a great number of places.  
  
The hobbit often chose under his oak tree atop Bag End if he was able - he could gaze across the Shire and into the world beyond, imagining what his old friends might be up to. He tried not to imagine any kings, however, because they had mostly only led to great trouble and he was quite done with that, thank you very much.  
  
“Mister Bilbo, Mister Bilbo!” high-pitched voices squealed as thundering footsteps announced the arrival of a gang of fauntlings. Bilbo winced at their pitch before he turned to watch a group of three boys storm past his gate and straight up to him, bouncing with energy, panting and beaming. “Is Folco home?! Can he come play?!”  
  
He eyed the three of them, taking in their slightly disheveled states. A Brandybuck, Took, and Boffin each. Yavanna save him.  
  
“Doderic, Everard, Bosco,” he greeted, crossing his arms over his chest and tapping his foot. “And where would Folco be joining you lads? From the oak leaves, dirt, and pine needles covering the three of you, I would say a bit further from home than he should.”  
  
The boys exchanged a quick look, all three nibbling on their lips as they had whatever silent conversations five and six year olds had. “Umm…” Doderic managed before he shook his head. “We weren’t far, we promise! We’ll stay, umm, maybe…” The boy trailed off, swiveling his head back and forth, searching. Bilbo rolled his eyes.  
  
“You will stay within sight of Bag End or so help me, I will be conversing with each of your parents. See if you enjoy so much adventure from home then,” he said, waggling his finger at them and receiving wrinkled noses in return.  
  
The door to his smial swung open and Folco came trotting out, gasping with delight when he saw his friends, who eagerly ran to him in turn, chattering away. Bilbo was a bit proud to see his son split his scone into fairly identical sized bites, sharing with his friends without any prompting at all. Well. He supposed they could go and have their fun.  
  
“Alright you lot. Get out of my hair, the four of you, but _stay within sight of Bag End_ ,” he ordered, hands on his hips as four heads turned his way. “Do you understand me?”  
  
“Yes, Mister Bilbo,” the boys chimed, even his own traitorous son, beaming bright as the sun at him. And then they were off, screaming and giggling as they ran out of his gate and immediately thundered down Bagshot Row, happy as could be.  
  
“Little curmudgeons,” he mumbled to himself, brushing his hands off as began to march toward the large green down of his smial. He was stopped once more by cries of his name, though from a distinctly older and familiar voice.  
  
“Mister Bilbo! Look at that there! Ever seen the likes of it before? Saw it when I was coming up the hill just now! What is it?” Hamfast cried as he trotted to Bilbo’s fence, red-faced and huffing and puffing. His friend sighed, turning and moving down to meet the hobbit, who was shielding his eyes from the sun and pointing somewhere toward the east.  
  
When Bilbo looked, he felt a rather sudden and terrible fear rush through him, stomach plummeting. It was a… bird? A very large bird, it seemed, only gaining in size the closer it flew toward them before it began to descend straight toward them. For a ridiculous moment the hobbit’s irrational side was screaming ‘great black dragon’ and he was tempted to start running for his life, dragging his friend with him.  
  
“A raven!” Hamfast cried as the bird swooped in low, heading for the fence, black feathers shining and fluttering in the wind. His neighbor dove out of the way and into the dirt as the bird flapped its mighty wings and landed on Bilbo’s pristine white fence where he had just been standing.  
  
The hobbit stared at it, gobsmacked, mouth hanging open. It was a raven of Erebor, he knew that immediately, but he did not know how to process it. He had received letters from his friends, of course he had, but from a _raven?_ No indeed! Something awful must have happened, something terrible, involving Thorin, he could feel it all the way down to his furry feet-  
  
“Master Baggins,” the raven croaked at him, startling him into clutching his chest with one hand and his fence with the other. For a moment there he had forgotten some of them spoke Westron. And were perfectly capable of scrutinizing as well, if the way its beady black eye was staring at him indicated. “I am Corac, son of Roac.”  
  
Bilbo winced at the harsh voice, opening his mouth before closing it, too shell-shocked to greet the blasted thing back. Hamfast was sitting on his rear and staring up at the raven with a mixture of awe and utter fear, not moving lest he attract attention to himself.  
  
“I bear a message from the King Under the Mountain, Thorin Oakenshield,” the raven croaked, hopping a few inches closer to him, its head tilting to the side to get a better look at his face - which Bilbo was sure had paled quite a lot. “King Thorin will be in the Shire in a fortnight. He asked that I inform you of when that was spoken: six days past.”  
  
Bilbo took a step back as if the bird had attempted to poke his eyes out, clutching at his chest with both hands now, his heart fit to burst. It was suddenly pumping icy cold blood through his veins. Thorin would be in the Shire in just over a week - this may have been a warning of it, but it was not an announcement well ahead of time. The dwarf purposefully did not inform him any sooner and Bilbo was terrified to imagine why he wouldn’t. He refused to believe it had anything to do with his son - it couldn’t have. He did not tell anyone of Folco, not anyone that would have informed Thorin of him. Gandalf certainly wouldn’t, he had been sworn not to, if he ever ventured to Erebor in their time. Lord Elrond never would and King Thranduil would likely never speak with the dwarf personally again and… well he had no reason to tell him.  
  
Someone must have died. Or worse. Something had happened to the Mountain. One of his friends was grievously injured. Or perhaps Thorin was on his way to Ered Luin for whatever reason and simply wanted to torment Bilbo further in his life. He would not be there for him specifically, he couldn’t be - he had never written and the Company spoke about him only if they were discussing Erebor’s business. In fact, the way they addressed their king was entirely formal and sometimes downright insulting. After Fili and Kili’s first letter to him, he had understood that there was a great divide between the Company and Thorin still; they were loyal to their king but they had lost respect for him and they were going to try to get him to see the ‘error of his ways.’ They hadn’t been successful, if the way they never _mentioned_ it again meant anything. Though Bofur was still endlessly creative when referring to the king when he wrote.  
  
Corac cawed shrilly at him and he jumped, letting out a gusty sigh, not having realized he had stopped breathing altogether. “O-Oh… thank you, Corac, s-son of Roac,” he managed, voice hushed. “Was there anything else the king, ah, happened to say?” The bird turned its head to look at him with its opposite eye, staying quiet for a long enough time that Bilbo was tempted to apologize for nosing about.  
  
“The king said to himself that you had much to speak of but this was not included in his message. That is all,” he croaked before he spread his great wings, gave two beats of them, and was soaring through the air, heading east once again.  
  
Bilbo stared after him with a sense of foreboding, dropping his hands to hang loosely at his sides, vaguely aware of Hamfast pulling himself to his feet and straightening himself out. His vision was growing dark and a great rushing noise was flowing through his ears, like that of the River in Mirkwood, when he was clinging tight to a barrel and being swept down along it. If he tried, he could almost hear dwarven curses.  
  
“Mister Bilbo? The king? Isn’t that who you had run off with a few years ago? That dwarf fellow and all his friends?” Hamfast asked cautiously, stepping closer to the other hobbit, seeming to sense his friend’s distress. “Whatever does he want?”  
  
“I couldn’t say, Hamfast,” Bilbo mumbled, turning to look at his friend as he swayed on his feet. “Can’t ever predict what that one might do.”  
  
And then Bilbo did what he did best when faced with potentially dangerous news: he fainted.  
  
——  
  
When Bilbo came to, he was entirely confused as to what happened and how he had gotten to his rug before his fireplace, a pillow beneath his head.  
  
The hobbit carefully pushed himself up onto his elbows, looking blearily around, taking in deep breaths in an attempt to clear his swimming vision. Had he collapsed? And where was Folco?  
  
Bilbo started, sitting up as quickly as he could manage before he heard a cry of surprise, freezing him to his spot. His eyes darted toward the archway leading into his sitting room where Hamfast Gamgee had apparently been startled to see him awake, a steaming cup of tea held carefully in his hands.  
  
“Mister Bilbo! Are you alright? Gave me quite a fright, you did, fainting like that! I should chase one of those birds away with my rake if they ever come ‘round again!” he declared angrily, moving toward Bilbo and carefully sitting next to him, handing him the cup of tea. “How is your head?”  
  
_Right_.  
  
A raven of Erebor had swooped down from the sky and easily informed him Thorin Oakenshield would be there in just over a week. Back to the Shire, back to Bag End, back to Bilbo and he hadn’t a clue why.  
  
“No… er, I’m quite alright, Hamfast, terribly sorry to scare you like that. I wasn’t quite expecting that. Haven’t seen one of those birds in years,” he muttered, swallowing hard before he blew on his tea, quite needing the soothing liquid for his hoarse throat.  
  
“I should think not! Never knew those types of ravens existed, big as it was. I almost fainted myself when it _spoke_ to you! Thought I must have been having a very strange dream, indeed, very strange. But I guess those dwarves are an odd bunch, what with their mountains and treasures. Might have expected talking ravens!” his friend rambled, gesturing in the air with one of his hands.  
  
Bilbo sighed before he took a few sips of his tea. “Yes, they’re full of oddities,” he mumbled, mostly to himself. “Thank you, Hamfast, you are a very good friend and I’m most grateful you were there, despite myself.” He took one more gulp of his tea before he set the cup aside. “I’m quite afraid I have no idea what to do.”  
  
“What with that Oakenshield fellow coming here? Well you’ve got a bit of time to think it through! What’s your concern with him?” his fellow hobbit asked. He knew very little of what Bilbo had gone through - most hobbits didn’t know anything at all besides that he’d run off with dwarves for a year and a half and came back with a fauntling in his belly. Plenty of gossip _there_ for them to pick at, he didn’t need to give them anymore oil for the fire! “Thought you said he was a friend?”  
  
He cleared his throat. “Er, he is. Was. I mean, as much as a hobbit can be friends with a dwarf king of a mountain across Middle Earth. I didn’t think I’d ever hear from him, to be honest, let alone ever _see_ him again. We experienced quite a lot of peril on our little quest and I’m surprised he would ever make the trip West again,” he said quietly, pressing the heel of his palm hard into one of his eyes. How could he be expected to survive this? Could a hobbit not have some peace?  
  
Hamfast was quiet for a moment as he observed his friend, such a strange hobbit to run off with dwarves and to help them fix up their mountain, not knowing them beforehand. All because of that wizard, he would bet!  
  
“Well, Mister Bilbo, I’m just down the way if you need any help before they come along and while they’re here. If that dwarf king gives you any trouble, what with you and your boy here, you let my Bell and I know and we’ll give him the what-for. Hopefully he’s just come to say hello, though,” he said with a nod and a friendly smile.  
  
Bilbo could see a hint of steel in his eyes that he rarely ever experienced in his friend and while he cursed his perceptiveness, he appreciated Hamfast more than ever right then. “Thank you, my friend. I hope to not need to take advantage but if there’s one person I’d trust to give a dwarf the what-for, it’d be you,” he said with a smile, patting Hamfast on his knee.  
  
The hobbit grinned back at him before they lapsed into silence, staring into the fireplace, thoughtful on Hamfast’s side and detached on Bilbo’s. He wasn’t sure he could face that dwarf king once more in his life.  
  
——  
  
The night before the dwarves, according to Corac, raven of Erebor, would be arriving in the Shire, Bilbo found his eyes glued to his fireplace. He was sitting in his father’s armchair, trying to find comfort in its familiar fabric, his blunt nails digging into the subtleties of it. Part of him wondered why he was still there - why he hadn’t packed up some essentials for Folco and himself and gone on a very long walking holiday. To where, exactly, he had no idea. Away from Bag End and away from where Thorin Oakenshield knew to find him. He didn’t deserve to see Bilbo, for whatever reason he wanted to, no indeed! And he certainly didn’t deserve to meet his son.  
  
Did he?  
  
_Eru_ , no, of course he didn’t. He was a great stubborn goat, his pride his most prized quality, and he had wronged the hobbit in the worst of ways. No indeed, he didn’t even deserve a welcome.  
  
Not that Bilbo could completely lie to himself - a small part of him wanted to see the king, just to see that he was alright, that he had healed well. Proof that the Mountain truly was prospering as Balin would say in his letters. And because he never really knew how to protect his fragile heart.  
  
The hobbit dropped his head back onto the top of the armchair, staring up at the ceiling and watching the shadows cast by the firelight. It was late and Folco had already been put to bed two hours beforehand. It was nearing the time he himself would clamber happily into bed but he knew he would not be able to sleep. His foot was bouncing against his floor and his heart seemed to stutter every few beats, causing his chest to tighten uncomfortably. No, no sleep for him - because of Thorin Oakenshield.  
  
Bilbo had to give his son a bit of credit. He had tried so very hard to make sure the lad could not see his worry or sense his distress. It didn’t matter, Folco saw right through him like he almost always did these days and informed him if he was upset they could go to the poppy fields near the borders of the Shire with a picnic lunch because that always made them both feel much better. With tears in his eyes, he had told him that was a very good idea indeed and they would do just that in a day or two.  
  
The boy would be the death of him.  
  
The hobbit decided at the very least he should try reading, as sometimes it soothed him enough to fall asleep in his armchair and get some decent rest. Might as well give it a go. He stood and began to cross the room in quick strides to his bookshelves, faltering a few paces in front of them when there was a knock on his door.  
  
His heart immediately leapt into his throat and his stomach roiled as if the floor had dropped out from under him. Sweat coated his palms quite before he knew it and he stared, rabbit caught in the sight line of a wolf, at the hall leading toward his front door. It was too late for visitors, not unless there were some kind of emergency - and they wouldn’t knock, either. It would have been a frantic ringing of his bell, startling him out of his skin and scaring Folco into tears.  
  
But it was too early for them. It was too early for Thorin Oakenshield, he was absolutely not ready for this, he could not do this with his son sleeping soundly in his bedroom. No, perhaps he should pretend he wasn’t home and at first light they could flee on that walking holiday they really should have already been on. Yes, that sounded like a very good idea, they would do just that.  
  
After a few shaky breaths, Bilbo realized he had begun to tremble and squeezed his hands into tight fists, swallowing past a dry throat. No… no, he would not be a coward. He would not let that blasted dwarf make him into one, not in his own smial, not when he had been given no choice in this. The King Under the Mountain would not continue to rule over his emotions, he would not let him.  
  
Bilbo inhaled twice, quickly, steeling himself before he turned on his heel, marching through Bag End and straight for his round door. He tightened his robe and squared his shoulders, snatching the lock and yanking it a bit aggressively before he wrenched his door open.  
  
He had stepped back into that day, something around seven years ago, staring at the familiar sight before him. Before it had all happened, when he was a stuffy hobbit not interested in adventure and when he was still intimidated by dwarves. He blinked twice.  
  
Golden sunlight and good tilled earth. That’s what they reminded him of - shining in their own unique way. Dimpled grins and twinkling eyes on both, a familiar blue that managed to be so much warmer than another he knew, the deep brown of the second dwarf reminding him of many nights spent by a fire, watching them sparkle with life as stories were told.  
  
Bilbo let out a small, stunned noise as he stared at Fili and Kili, not at all who he was working himself up to see, and felt all his fear and frustration melt away. “Y-You… _boys_ …” he managed to choke out, which seemed to spur the brunet into action.  
  
Kili launched himself at Bilbo, throwing his arms around the hobbit, lifting him a few inches in the air, spinning him around and squeezing. When he didn’t know which way was up or down the lad finally set him down and well, it didn’t stop there, because it was his brother’s turn.  
  
“For Eru’s sake, you’ll make me sick, you menaces!” he moaned out before he was steadied by four strong hands, vision swimming.  
  
“ _Bilbo_ ,” Kili said, voice hoarse with tears. That wasn’t going to help the hobbit's poor heart. “Bilbo, we’ve missed you so much! We’ve wanted so badly to come and see you and steal you away! You look wonderful!”  
  
Bilbo flushed, quite unable to help it, clearing his throat as he looked over Kili’s sincere face, his eyes looking a tad red. He didn’t want to imagine why. Fili gripped his shoulder, smiling so fondly at him it drew out another squeak.  
  
“You do, Bilbo, you look great. Mahal, it’s been too long since we’ve seen you. We’re sorry we haven’t been able to come and I hope you believe us when we say we didn’t mean for it to be unexpected all over again,” the blond said, pulling the hobbit closer to their familiar warmth. “Thorin forbade anyone from letting you know until we were only a fortnight out and we barely managed to slip away tonight.”  
  
“Wait, what? Slip away?” Bilbo asked, his fear returning full force as he snapped his head back to look at their faces. “What do you mean, ‘slip away'? Does your uncle not know you’re here?”  
  
The dwarves exchanged a look before they both shook their heads at him. “Nope. As soon as he fell asleep, we snuck out of camp and rode hard to get here. He won’t be here until late morning or so but we wanted to get to you first. What’s he going to do, yell at us?” Kili said with a roll of his eyes. “It’s not so impressive anymore.”  
  
Fili snorted. “It is sometimes, back at home, but not when we’re out here, not when it has to do with you,” he said, an odd little smirk on his face. Bilbo swayed.  
  
“Please explain to me what on earth you two are talking about and why you’re here,” he hissed, grabbing at their traveling cloaks and lightly shaking them. “I’ve been working myself up something fierce, not having a clue why he would be coming here! He explained nothing! Nothing at all!”  
  
Kili sighed, nodding quickly before he pulled back, closing the smial door for the hobbit. “Come on, Bilbo, let’s go sit. We’ve got to speak to you about some things. Don’t worry, nothing has happened. Except revelations of some sorts,” he muttered, ridding himself of his traveling cloak, his brother following. Bilbo, manners ever present, helped relieve them of their burdens and offered ales and free reign of his pantry - he could wait another few moments. Now that they were here, he almost didn’t want to know. He would really rather go hide under his blankets in his bed and never come out again.  
  
Finally the dwarves were happily nursing two mugs of ale and sitting comfortably on the ground (for whatever reason they forewent armchairs) in front of the fireplace, inhaling a few cheddar biscuits. Bilbo certainly recognized that face - the one you had when you finally got to your destination after so long of travel and had some much needed comfort.  
  
He chose tea for himself as he figured he might just need a completely clear head for this one.  
  
After Kili burped, hitting his chest and huffing out a sigh, he looked at Bilbo. “Alright. First thing’s first, we have to ask, Bilbo, we have to,” he began and the hobbit knew _exactly_ what this visit was about then - they knew about Folco. “Is it true?”  
  
Bilbo felt his stomach hit the ground once more and slid his eyes toward his fire again. He couldn’t deny it, not even if he actually wanted to. It was obvious from the state of his sitting room that a fauntling lived in his home and he wouldn’t lie to them either way, even if it wasn’t.  
  
“Is what true, boys?” he asked warily, running his hand tiredly over his face. “Which part of it anyway?”  
  
When he looked back at the brothers, they weren’t staring at him with any sort of frustration - if anything it was fear and sadness mingling together. Fili scooted a bit closer to him, tugging once at his robe before he let his hand drop again.  
  
“Bilbo, do you have a child?” he asked, voice neutral but his hard swallow gave away his nerves. Kili did much the same but his nerves were written all over his face.  
  
The hobbit gave a slow nod. “Yes. Yes I do. My son, his name is Folco. Beautiful boy and very much asleep right now, I’d like to keep it that way if we can,” he commented, sliding his arms to cross over his chest, feeling the need to protect himself. He found this to be a bit of a touchy subject.  
  
The brothers exchanged glances again, obviously having already known he had a child, but still looking rather resigned at the news. “And is the other part true?” Fili asked gently as he looked back at him, raising his eyebrows. “Male hobbits can become pregnant? And you carried him?”  
  
“Yes, that part is true as well. And before you ask, yes, he is your uncle’s son and your cousin,” Bilbo said flatly, looking between them both expectantly. Kili almost immediately reared back, slumping against the armrest of the chair behind him with a whine, his head thudding heavily against it. His brother let out a groan, rubbing both of his hands roughly over his face.  
  
“ _Mahal_ ,” Kili moaned. “We… I mean, we kind of expected it to be true but _hearing_ it. Oh, Bilbo, what’d he _do_ to you? Why didn’t you tell us?”  
  
“Kee, we can’t ask him that,” Fili lightly admonished. “You had your reasons, Bilbo, you don’t have to tell us them. I’m just sorry we weren’t there to help you. We had no idea hobbit lads could bear children and just the idea that you were doing as much when traveling across Middle Earth! I could kill him, I really could.” He trailed off into a muttered slew of Khuzdul curses and Bilbo heaved a sigh.  
  
“None of that. Obviously he didn’t know, I didn’t tell him anything. I also had plenty of help traveling and not a thing went badly, thank Eru. Gandalf stuck with me the entire way home and even some time after! Got plenty of help in Rivendell, Lord Elrond knew some about us hobbits and our pregnancies. And I had a healthy boy without a hitch,” he said calmly, raising his eyebrows between them, gesturing his hand through the air to emphasize it. “It’s the way I wanted it to be. Now, tell me, and don’t you two dare try to scoot around this one. _How_ , in all of Yavanna’s acorns and leaves, _did you find out?”_  
  
The dwarves exchanged uneasy glances at that, both fidgeting and looking entirely uncomfortable. At a narrow-eyed look from the hobbit, Kili groaned.  
  
“That bloody elf from Mirkwood! He- he just told us, in front of half the council! No no, not all of it!” He hastily waved away Bilbo’s growing horror. “Well, maybe a lot of it, but not _every_ thing…”  
  
~…~  
  
Kili did not like council days, he really didn’t. They were boring, they were full of yelling, full of _Thorin_ , and now today full of elves. Not that he wasn’t familiar with elves but this was honestly the last elf he wanted to see.  
  
The big bloody tree-shagger. Shimmering in some unknown light the way he did, it nearly made him roll his eyes. He swept his gaze over Thranduil for what felt like the hundredth time, wrinkling his nose in barely disguised distaste at his garb. Something silver, couldn’t tell what, with flouncy white patterns sewn into it, an earthy green fabric that must’ve been lining it just peeking through near his boots.  
  
Don’t forget the shimmering silver circlet on his head.  
  
And he’d been blathering on for ages, making the young dwarf squint his eyes shut to try and bring moisture into them before he would look back. He’d start yawning soon. They were talking about- what were they talking about? Oh, right, opening trade routes through Mirkwood - more of it, at least. It had been sparse since the Battle, the discord between the kings keeping everything in a stagnant state. Finally Thorin and Balin had worked out some offer and summoned the elf. Shockingly he was there in three days, a herd of his elven guards and nobles with him, and with that smirk that Kili despised so much.  
  
Well, he was fairly sure all of them despised it because when he glanced around at the half-filled council chambers, all of his fellow dwarves looked like how he felt. Kili gave a sidelong glance to his brother, who had that pinched look to him, eyes narrowed and nose wrinkled slightly. He was listening with rapt attention, he had to give him that, but he didn’t envy his brother at all. Thank Mahal he would never be king. At least he better not be because then he would have to pull Fili from the stone just to put him back in it.  
  
“Very well,” his uncle’s voice cut in through his haze of boredom. “We are at an agreement and have the proper signatures. Thank you, King Thranduil of the Greenwood, for your presence, for your time, and for remaining a loyal ally to Erebor.”  
  
Kili could _hear_ Thorin trying not to grind his teeth as he spoke and ducked his head to hide a smirk. At some point he’d found patience enough to deal with elves but he hadn’t seen this particular one since the Battle and probably hoped Fili would be on the throne before he ventured to Erebor again.  
  
“May I inquire about the Halfling?” King Thranduil’s deep voice sounded, a bit louder than the tones in which he had been speaking with before. It did what he clearly wanted, not that it wouldn’t anyway - it snared everyone’s attention, heads whipping up as one.  
  
The temperature in the room increased to stifling as the dwarves stared at the elf king in both scandalized shock and horror - _why was he asking, why was he asking here of all places, what did he care?_  
  
Given Thorin’s sudden impersonation of a stone-turned troll, the elf king’s lips turned up slightly, his eyes crinkling in that arrogant way, like he knew something they didn’t. Kili both heard and felt his brother shift next to him and knew right where his hand had gone. What was he going to do, stick a throwing axe in his forehead? Not that he’d be too terribly sad about it but it might put a stop to those recently signed trade agreements.  
  
“Do you not have any news of Master Baggins?” Thranduil asked in a disbelieving little way. “That is a shame, I wondered how his child fared and assumed he, being a part of your… Company, would be cause for you to inquire after as well. Such a strange gift hobbits have, is it not? For males of their race to be capable of such a feat?”  
  
Alright. Now he was being antagonistic and that might be cause for a throwing axe or arrow. What _child?_ What could male hobbits do? Become _pregnant?_ Is that what he was implying? No, couldn’t be. What nonsense was he spewing? He felt his own hand twitch before he looked at Fili, who had whipped his head to his right and at the king.  
  
At Thorin, who was looking so pale one might assume he was back on his cot in the healer's tents with half his blood splattered about the battlefield. His knuckles were standing out especially, as he gripped at the king’s seat in the chambers, a great thing, obsidian and always shining. His uncle said it was a pain in the arse and Kili believed it. Said uncle’s eyes were wide, not at all thinking of where he sat, of the dwarven nobles around him.  
  
Honestly you could hear a cricket in there. And Thranduil was still smirking.  
  
“What feat?” Thorin finally managed to say, the words more of a raspy growl than anything. The elf king put on a confused frown, his great dark eyebrows scrunching together.  
  
“To bear children of course. Surely you must have known, he was with you for quite some time, was he not? _Ah_ , perhaps it was something he felt far too personal to share.”  
  
“And how would the king of Mirkwood know such things? You were no friend to the hobbit,” Fili finally said, dropping his hands to grip at his knees. “How came you by this knowledge?”  
  
Thranduil raised an eyebrow at him. “I am a friend to Master Baggins. He was a guest in my kingdom for a number of days, partially delayed by the early symptoms of his… condition,” he said, halting on the word for effect, the bloody bastard. “I grew quite fond of him and hoped you would know his and his child’s state. I am surprised to hear-"  
  
“ _Out!_ ” Thorin suddenly barked, standing to his feet and thrusting his arm toward the doors. The guards there hastened to open them and Thorin glowered at his council. “Leave us, all of you. I shall speak to this elf king in private.”  
  
The elf king had the gall to raise his eyebrows ever so slightly in surprise at the request but he remained silent, hands clasped behind his back, his icy eyes stuck on Thorin’s own fierce gaze.  
  
His uncle’s council members moved quickly but it wasn’t as fast as an arrow and therefore really much too slow. Kili let out a pained noise, nudging his brother in the elbow with his, to which Fili simply raised a hand at him to remain quiet, still watching the proceedings with a careful eye of his own. Like they were going anywhere.  
  
Bilbo Baggins was not an easy subject for any of them, really. In fact, nearly the entire Company ached when they thought of or spoke about the hobbit. But they still told his stories hundreds of times, they laughed at memories of his beginning fussiness and then waxed about his endless courage, the entire gravity of it not actually hitting them until they _did_ discuss him at great lengths. Everything that he had done for them all crept up on them individually with each of their stories and made the reality of it all the worse.  
  
They were standing in their Mountain, right then, because of him. Kili never forgot that nor did his brother. No, they very much did not forget - and they very much did not have a close relationship with their uncle anymore because of it. He wasn’t sure many did besides Dwalin and Balin, not that he’d really seen. Not that he saw the entire Company much these days either.  
  
The dwarf closed his eyes tight, biting down on his lip to try and will that whole thing away and stay in the present moment.  
  
The council chambers doors closed, the noise much more ominous than it usually was, and Kili knew he could cut the tension in the air with a knife. He watched as his Uncle moved down along the rows of seats to stand closer to the elf, still a few steps up so he could be more on eye level. Kili didn’t know why - he was the largest person in the room at that moment.  
  
“Tell me what you speak of and speak it plainly,” the king grunted out, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides.  
  
“I thought I was speaking plainly,” Thranduil mused before he smiled between the three of them. “I understand now that you had no knowledge of the hobbit’s state then or even at present, years that it has been. He was journeying with the grey wizard through my forests when he became ill and requested aid at my home. I offered it to him gladly, as he had shown his bravery and courage enough to be considered an elf-friend during the War. Even after his… crimes.”  
  
Oh, that was low. That was definitely low. A blatant jab at what had come to pass between Thorin and Bilbo guised with the escape from his kingdom with said hobbit’s help! Like any of them would miss it - they weren’t supposed to.  
  
“I must say that I am confused as to why he did not tell any of your Company. He spoke fondly of many of you in our numerous conversations. One would think you were close friends with the hobbit,” Thranduil continued, slowly pacing around the room, looking around as if curious. “An odd creature but I found myself taken with him. He charms wherever he goes it would seem, does he not? I wonder why it would be he wished not to inform his dwarf friends but perhaps it is simply the way of hobbits. I could not say.”  
  
Kili grabbed Fili’s arm, shaking his head slightly at him as his brother made to move forward. Heated words weren’t going to help whatever this was. And what in Mahal’s name was this?  
  
The elf was saying Bilbo had been _pregnant!_ And that he had a child! He would never not tell them such a thing if he were or did, even if it was some hobbit secret, he would have-  
  
Maybe not. Kili looked at his uncle with dawning realization, sinking back into his seat and fisting his hair. If it were true, _Mahal_ , if it were true and Bilbo didn’t say anything because of what Thorin _did_ to him…  
  
Could one declare mutiny? Could that still happen? Or was it just usurping? He’d have to ask Balin.  
  
“You are speaking truthfully?” Fili demanded, not bothering to hide his anger. Kili knew it was at the elf king, at the situation, and just like him, at Thorin.  
  
“I am speaking as truthfully as I assume the hobbit spoke to me,” Thranduil said, voice all dead-like and uninterested now. “I apologize for stirring any ill feelings to life, if I have. I did not ever imagine there would _be_ any after all that had occurred.” And without any ago, he turned on his heel and left with a graceful twist of his hand.  
  
_Left!_  
  
When the doors closed, it was painfully silent, Thorin simply standing and staring at the spot the elf had stood in. Fili and Kili exchanged a glance before they both moved around and down to the council floor, looking up at the face of their uncle. He was still ghostly pale and there was such a look of agonized confusion that his nephews almost felt sorry for him.  
  
“Do you think he is being false?” Kili asked quietly, crossing his arms over his chest and raising his eyebrows expectantly. “Do you think he’d have reason to be?”  
  
Thorin closed his eyes as he sank back into one of the council members’ chairs, elbows hitting his knees as he pressed his hands together, resting them against his mouth for a long moment. Begging for some kind of patience. “No,” he said, with one nearly imperceptible shake of his head. “I do not. But I will not believe his words, not completely. Not until I can confirm them with my own eyes. Even if only one of his words prove to be true it is more than enough to journey to the Shire.”  
  
Kili gave a laugh at that, more than a little bitter. “Glad that’s reason enough for you, the possibility of a child, not Bilbo himself,” he said, throwing his arm angrily in the air. “You _know_ why he would not have spoken of this, if it is true! You should have gone to him, gone to him years ago! You dishonored yourself by not and you dishonor yourself further for needing more reason than you already had to go to him!”  
  
His uncle’s eyes had snapped back to his, closing off and becoming stony. He might as well have turned a darker shade with every word as well, he looked so foreboding and so dangerous when he stood to tower over his nephews again. _Hah_. Kili was ready to tell him where he could stick it because he wasn’t afraid of him anymore.  
  
“My brother has the right of it,” Fili said, quieter, but sounding older than his brother had ever heard him. They’d expressed their disappointment in their uncle on many an occasion but this was worse. “You know he does, Thorin. You should have fixed this long ago, when you first knew you did wrong by him. You have never even written him and look where we are now. Look what has become of this. _A'lâju Mahal._ ”  
  
He glared at their uncle for a moment before he turned and stormed toward the doors himself. Kili winced at the words and the weight they carried.  
  
“Fee-"  
  
“No, Kili, not right now. I need a moment to get away from this madness once again.”  
  
Kili sighed, resting his hands atop his head in distress, watching his brother leave before he looked back to Thorin. And honestly, it was a face he’d been waiting for. Wrecked, just completely wrecked. He’d seen hints of it over the last few years, but not like this and he wanted to hit him for it.  
  
“Why’ve you been such a fool about this?” he asked, voice low enough to not echo in the room. “You have no claim over a child, if there is one. You don’t, not after everything. Why go now, when you haven’t before?”  
  
Thorin looked at him, face twisting in pain as he held a hand out a bit helplessly. “I have no intention of claiming a child. I have done enough to him and the idea that there is still something I left him with, another pain that I did not even know of, it is too much for me to bear. Do not speak to me of what I should have done, Kili, I think of it every day. I cannot say with complete confidence why I haven’t gone to him, written to him,” he said, voice breaking on a few of his words, causing his nephew to avert his gaze. “I wanted him to be free of all of this.”  
  
“Free,” Kili mumbled. “Yes, I’m sure he found that freedom, regardless of a child or not, I’m sure he found it in the _Shire_. I’m sure he definitely felt _free_ of all of this. Couldn’t possibly be carrying it around on his shoulders every day, could he? You know he loved you, Thorin, and we know you loved him too. I don’t care for any of the reasons you had for being a coward, none of them were enough to not go to him. Mahal, this is a _mess_. You can try to go to him now but I hope you’re not foolish enough to expect anything. I’m going to find Mum, you go ahead and plan this trip to the Shire. I’m coming with you, it seems like a chance to gain some small bit of dignity for yourself and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”  
  
He wanted to punch him, he really did, had for a long time. But he had to go discuss his impending trip to the Shire and maybe also unload on someone that could kick his uncle into shape before they left. His mother was the most likely candidate for that one.  
  
~…~  
  
Bilbo stared in alarm at Kili, clutching at his chest, attempting to figure out what he was more upset about. _Thranduil_. Oh, he would send a very lengthy letter to that elf! It was not his place, what was he thinking? Look at what he had done! Now Thorin was nearly in the Shire. And the blasted elf had spilled a hobbit secret in front of gossipy dwarves! Dwarf nobles, no less! Oh, if he could go to war with someone, it’d be that traitor.  
  
“It was terrible. We don’t blame you, Bilbo, we really don’t, for not telling him. He didn’t deserve you after what he did and who knows how he would have reacted to the idea of having a child back then? But he hasn’t been angry with you in a long time and this sort of crushed him,” Fili commented.  
  
“Not that he didn’t deserve it,” Kili agreed with a quick nod. “But _Mahal_ , he nearly tore down the whole Mountain in preparing for this sudden journey. Terrifying, really, but at least he finally showed some life again.”  
  
Bilbo whipped his head between the two of them, his jaw lowered. “W-What do you mean? Hasn’t been angry with me in a long time?! Showed some _life_ again? Exactly what’s been going on in that Mountain? I’ve been fairly certain he’s _hated_ me all this time, after what he did,” he squeaked out.  
  
Fili snorted, a bitter and ugly sound. “Another one of his accomplishments. He hates himself. Has since not long after you probably got back to the Shire. We all thought it might have been some gold sickness vestiges for him to continue your banishment but we doubt that now. We barely spoke to him for months, almost all of us from the Company, not unless we needed to. Not until Mum got there and spoke with him. Then he finally started to look properly miserable. It took a long time to even get to where we are now with him but it’s never been the same. _He_ hasn’t been the same,” he growled, looking at his brother. Kili looked just as upset.  
  
“He wishes you were there, managed to tell Mum as much and she told us. He can be alright sometimes but a lot of the time he’s just quiet and broods for weeks straight,” he said, shaking his head in disgust. “Because he’s a coward and a fool.”  
  
Bilbo bit down on his tongue, warring between shouting at them or bursting into tears. What they were telling him wasn’t making any sense at all.  
  
“If he’s truly felt this way,” he began hoarsely, “why has he not written to me? Apologized? Why not tell me he was wrong? It’s been nearly six years. Is his pride still that important?”  
  
Fili sighed heavily as he looked at the hobbit, eyes full of uncertainty. “We can’t speak for him on why he didn’t write to you. You’ll have to get that out of him,” he said quietly. “Hearing about your child, it finally spurred him into doing something. It shouldn’t have taken that kind of news, it shouldn’t have taken anything but his own guilt to get him to do this obviously. I’d like to believe this is a good thing now though, and that he has the best intentions.”  
  
“Oh, I believe Uncle fully intends on groveling to the best of his abilities,” Kili said darkly, huffing. “We’re usurping the throne if he doesn’t.”  
  
Bilbo looked between them before a strangled noise left his throat and he buried his face in his hands. “I’m not sure how much more I can take of this already. This is all too much. Far too much,” he moaned, trying to stop a hot wave of tears pooling in his eyes. He wanted to believe them about how Thorin felt but it didn’t explain why he never told the hobbit himself.  
  
“We feel very much the same way, trust us,” Kili muttered, scooting close enough to Bilbo to lean against his shin. “This is all too much, but- well not Folco, not him at all, that’s not what I mean. And um, actually Fee and I would really be honored to meet him, if-if you wouldn’t mind, you know?”  
  
Bilbo let out a teary chuckle as he heard the dwarf swallow in worry. “Of course you two can meet him, he’s your cousin. He’ll be delighted and I know you menaces will love him. Absurdly sharp lad, don’t let him fool you with those doe-eyes. He’ll wring you dry,” he said as he pulled his hands back to smile at the brothers. They both shot him grins.  
  
“He sounds amazing already,” Kili said dreamily, craning his neck toward the hall as if the fauntling might suddenly show. “I bet he’s adorable. What’s he look like?”  
  
“I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait and see, boys. I will say he’s a bit of a mix, however. If he turned out just like your Uncle I’m not sure what I would have done!”  
  
“Aye, no one deserves to look like such a horse’s arse,” Fili agreed sympathetically. “I bet he has furry hobbit feet, I don’t think our line could beat those things, even if we’re sons of Durin.”  
  
The hobbit snorted. “Our feet are most strong, yes, and he’s got a very respectable amount of fine hair on his own. I’m most proud of them, as is he,” he said with a smile. “He is the best gift I have ever received in my life and I love him with all my heart. All of the good, all of the bad, I’d go through every bit of it again just to have him.”  
  
He received warm smiles in return and tight hugs to his legs. Honestly, like dwarflings. “Can we stay tonight, Bilbo? If that’s alright? I mean, if you’d rather us not, we understand. No matter what, though, we’re going to be here when Thorin drags his arse here. It’s not up to you, not completely, we’re making sure he’ll treat you with respect before we give you time alone. It’s our duty as his family,” Kili said with a shrug when Bilbo narrowed his eyes at him.  
  
Bilbo sighed, grumbling to himself about the oddness of dwarves before he nodded. “You are most welcome to stay here tonight. I only ask that you keep it quiet as you would in any home with a sleeping child but you are welcome to treat my home as yours, for as long as you are here of course,” he said, patting the lads on their shoulders.  
  
Fili suddenly laughed, hitting his brother on the arm. “We get to have a proper hobbit breakfast this time before anyone else. _And_ we get to meet our wee cousin before anyone else. Can’t wait,” he said, absurdly proud over those facts for whatever reason. Kili as well, given his smug smile.  
  
“Oh for Yavanna’s sake,” Bilbo muttered. “Go to bed like the children you really are. Shoo, go, you know where you can find a room. And don’t you dare peek into that boy’s room and or I’ll hang you by your toes!”  
  
He watched them hop to their feet, snickering to themselves as they hurried into the hall, somehow managing to be fairly quiet. He listened to their excited whispers die down and heard a door close before he leaned back into his chair. Bilbo knew he would still not be getting much at all in the way of rest that night but he felt much more alright with it than before. Quite safe, too, with a pair of dwarves in his home that were firmly on his side, ready to protect him if need be. Not that he needed it. Oh, he had quite a few words for Thorin Oakenshield himself and he wasn’t frightened of them anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY seriously? YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING. ALL THE NAME SUGGESTIONS. I was blown friggin away and also sent into a fretting spell like Bilbs. So why did I end up going with Folco? Because I already had his appearance in my mind and anytime I went toward one of the lovely names someone suggested his appearance would change and I just kind of huurrnng'd -flail- but Folco stuck with what he looks like in my mind.
> 
> I have another dwobbit story in the works because I'm trash and there will be the names I couldn't but wanted to use here from you wonderful people. If I post it that is.
> 
> Thank you so very much everyone.


	4. Chapter 4

Bilbo indeed did not sleep much that night, much to his own dismay. Nothing helped and he only managed two hours spread out throughout and finally decided to give up when he saw dawn’s blue light.  
  
The hobbit ventured into his kitchen, hair mussed up and robe ruffled, setting about making himself some tea. Too early for breakfast and he wasn’t hungry anyway, which showed just how truly disconcerted he was with all this nonsense. Blasted dwarves, always a pain in his rear end. Blasted wizards as well, for introducing him to such horrid creatures! It had all started with Gandalf. He loved his dear friend but he had never meant to write a book about adventure based on personal experience, thank you very much.  
  
Bilbo stood in front of his fire until his kettle was ready, making a quick cup of chamomile with honey and a vanilla bean. Hopefully it would calm his nerves while also putting a pep in his step. Oh, he doubted that too, of course.  
  
After his third cup of tea, he heard a door creak open somewhere in his smial and his heart leapt into his throat. It wasn’t his son, that much was obvious, that lad tore out of his room as if it were on fire in the mornings. And yes, a moment after, he heard hushed whispers before a mess of brown hair poked around the corner, peering in at him.  
  
Kili grinned as soon as he saw him, nodding back at his brother that, yes, apparently he had found the hobbit, before he bounded in, Fili on his heels. They were thankfully rather dressed down and looked comfortable in his home for once. He didn’t need to see mail or swords on their persons that morning, no indeed.  
  
“Good morning, Bilbo,” Fili said with his most charming dimpled grin while the hobbit endured a bone-crushing hug from his brother.  
  
“Yes yes, good morning. You two are up a bit earlier than I would have expected,” he said, eyeing them as they pulled chairs out, flopping into them at the same time.  
  
Kili shrugged. “We don’t always sleep like the dead, as Mum likes to say. We’re a bit apprehensive about today as well! But we also knew you probably didn’t get a wink of sleep and thought we’d come keep you company. And here you are. Have you got anything to munch on before breakfast?” he asked, looking across the hall and toward the pantry.  
  
Bilbo shook his head at the dwarf. “Eru. Yes, I told you both already, get what you’d like. We’ll have sausages, eggs, and biscuits when Folco is up, plenty of fuel until second breakfast,” he said, shooing the dwarves away. Fili snorted as he hopped to his feet and followed his brother into the pantry.  
  
The hobbit tried not to let himself become too touched at the way they resumed their whispering, moving with care instead of the disastrous ways dwarves normally moved about. A moment or two later, they appeared with a plateful of cheeses, breads, and salted meats.  
  
“Mahal, without all the unpleasantness this is almost like a holiday. Kind of glad to not be sitting at the council right now. Sitting with our favorite hobbit is far more appealing,” Fili said with a wink. “Mum was almost jealous but knew she had to stay behind for the good of us all.”  
  
Kili grinned. “She’s running the Mountain right now. Uncle wanted Fee to stay behind and do it, learn more of what he’ll face someday but-"  
  
“-as if I’d stay behind for all this. I told Uncle where he could shove it and Mum said she wanted to fix a few of his messes anyway. Better when he’s not there to argue about it,” Fili finished, wrinkling his nose. “Though I won’t be surprised if half the council is changed out when we get back. Mum’s got it out for some of them.”  
  
“Not that they don’t deserve it,” Kili agreed with a shrug. “But Uncle has finally wrangled it into what he wants, so I hope she doesn’t. There would be no living with him after.”  
  
Bilbo was entirely too hobbitish to know anything of dwarven politics and was perfectly happy just listening, thank you very much.  
  
It didn’t take long for the brothers to realize they had quite lost him and they grinned sheepishly, veering the conversation into something he could manage with much more ease: Shire gossip. There had been quite a lot of it over the last five and a half years, so Bilbo had a full arsenal and was happy to entertain the dwarves while also delighting in it himself.  
  
The sun had come up and the birds were singing by the time they all heard a door open in the smial. They immediately stopped their chatter and Bilbo listened with some amusement as feet padded down to his room before promptly scampering through the halls and to the kitchen.  
  
Folco flew around the corner with his mouth open as if he meant to shout a good morning before he faltered when he saw two strangers, skidding to a stop and seeming to hop a few inches into the air. He gasped, looking between the brothers before he looked at his father.  
  
“Papa?” he asked in concern, clearly not sure if he should be worried or pleased with the unusual company.  
  
“Good morning, my boy. I see you’ve stumbled across our houseguests on this fine day; why don’t you say good morning, hmm?” he suggested, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips meaningfully.  
  
Fili and Kili both began to grin so dopily Bilbo couldn’t even look at them. The brunet was nearly bouncing in his seat and the hobbit was slightly alarmed for his son’s safety just from the excitement of dwarves.  
  
“Good morning. Umm. You… you’re…” Folco trailed off, looking up and down the hall as if Lobelia Sackville-Baggins herself might be creeping about. “You’re _dwarves!_ ”  
  
Kili laughed, smacking his thighs. “Yes! That is what we are. And do you know what’s more than that, little one? We are the smartest and clearly most handsome dwarves in all of Middle Earth. I am Kili,” he said, giving a low bow from where he sat, Fili managing it at the same time.  
  
“And Fili,” he announced, eyes raking up and down Folco, eagerly soaking him in. “And what are you? I can’t tell what he is, Kee. Maybe a hobbit? But he can’t be, he looks very strange for a hobbit, doesn’t he?”  
  
“You’re absolutely right, Fee. A very strange hobbit indeed. I’m just not sure,” Kili mused, furrowing his brow and shaking his head in mock confusion.  
  
Folco squealed. “I’m only _half_ hobbit! I’m a dwarf too!” he announced as if he had never been happier for such a thing - Bilbo suspected that was actually true - and hurried forward to Kili. He clambered onto his lap without so much as a by-your-leave, not seeming to be quite aware of what he was doing or just not caring. He wanted a closer look at the first dwarves he had ever seen and Bilbo supposed he couldn’t blame him for that.  
  
Kili looked like he might cry and Fili looked as if he might follow. Goodness gracious, the three of them would be the death of him.  
  
“Are you really?” Kili asked in shock after he gave a hard swallow, steadying the squirming fauntling on his lap by holding a knee and pressing his other hand to his back. “You know, I _think_ I can see it. How about you, brother? Look at that, he has the nose of a dwarf!” He poked Folco in the nose, making him giggle and look most modest indeed as he ducked his head.  
  
Bilbo wouldn’t point out that the Durin nose was not strongly indicative of a _dwarf_ nose compared to all others he had seen - couldn’t crush them like that, could he?  
  
“You’re right, Kee, now I see it. A dwarfling he is indeed. Strange, though, isn’t it? That he’s here when the smartest and most handsome dwarves in all of Middle Earth happen to come and visit?”  
  
“Well sighted, Fee. Are you trying to compete with us, little one? I’ll have you know that your cuteness cannot be compared to handsomeness,” Kili said sagely, pressing his hand against his chest as a small head swiveled back and forth between the brothers.  
  
“So you can’t compare to me?” Folco asked, causing Bilbo to snicker as the smug little smiles slipped off their faces. They both turned to look at him and he sent them a shrug - he told them so. And he always relished not being on the receiving end of his son’s blasted mouth. Belladonna would be proud.  
  
“Yeah, _dwarf_ , that’s where that came from,” Kili said drily. “Very cheeky.” He lightly tickled Folco’s sides and Bilbo winced at the high-pitched giggling that followed.  
  
Though, he was incredibly pleased that it had been so easy for Folco to take to these two, like he had almost sensed they were his family! The hobbit turned away as he stood, wandering to the pantry to gather what he needed for breakfast. _They were his family._ They were his cousins and while he already had plenty of those to go around, they were different. They were on _Thorin’s_ side, a side Folco had begun to ask endlessly about over the last year or so, much to Bilbo’s heartache. No matter the circumstances, just the idea that his son could meet more of his family warmed him straight to his toes.  
  
Bilbo collected himself and when he strode back into the kitchen, he refused to acknowledge the knowing smiles being sent his way by two overgrown dwarflings. “Well! I think now that a certain fauntling decided to drag himself out of bed, it’s time for breakfast! What do you lot say?” he asked loudly.  
  
Three cheers responded and he chuckled, beginning to go to work, keeping his ears open to listen to their chatter.  
  
“Oh, you’re in Papa’s stories a whole lot! He writes all about you! I like when you’re in them because it always makes me laugh. He tells me not to be like Fili and Kili when I grow up or I’ll attract danger everywhere I go,” his son recited to them matter-of-factly.  
  
“ _Bilbo_ ,” Fili sputtered in indignation as he twisted to look at the hobbit.  
  
“My stories are based on real events, you have no one but yourselves to blame,” he declared. “You are both troublemakers and Folco knows it now so he’ll know not to follow along in your pesky schemes.”  
  
“We’ll make a troublemaker out of you yet, Folco,” Kili said, shooting Bilbo the stink-eye. “A little trouble makes for good stories, doesn’t it?”  
  
“Yeah! I want to be in stories, too,” his traitorous son said, looking at him with wide, hopeful eyes.  
  
“Absolutely not. You will not be in any stories because you will not be heading into any adventures or into the troubles that come with them!” Bilbo said, waving his spatula at the devilish trio. “We will simply have to make up stories as we go along.”  
  
Folco pouted, slumping into Kili’s chest, arms crossed over his chest. “But that’s not fun!” he whined.  
  
Fili apparently decided to come to his rescue. “How about we create some stories of our own together? We’ll go out there and see what trouble we can find and then you’ll be the star hobbit in tales,” he said, nodding quickly and causing his braids to sway. Folco seemed rather mesmerized by the sight and nodded dumbly for a moment.  
  
“Yeah. Yeah! I want to be the star hobbit. Can we go after breakfast to make our stories?” he asked eagerly.  
  
Bilbo was unimpressed to see that his son was refusing to look at _him_ for permission, the brat. He coughed and raised a pointed eyebrow at Kili.  
  
The dwarf started, clearing his throat and nodding at the boy. “Only if your papa says it’s okay first. And if you promise you’ll be very careful and listen to us no matter what kind of trouble we find ourselves in. Alright?” he suggested, thankfully in a serious enough way that Bilbo’s worries abated a little.  
  
Folco held up his hand. “I promise! I’ll be careful and listen to you! Can I please, Papa? Can I go adventuring today?” he asked, large blue eyes swinging his way. Seeing him sandwiched between Fili and Kili had Bilbo's heart pitter-pattering in his chest. The blue eyes and nose of Durin, respectively. He never imagined his son ever meeting them but seeing their resemblances had him wondering yet again why that had to be. Best not think on it.  
  
“Alright, you may. But only because you promised you will remain safe and I will hold you to that, my dear boy,” Bilbo said, nodding his assent. “Once you’ve finished your breakfast, you may go but I want you home in time for second breakfast.”  
  
His son looked like he wanted to protest but Fili and Kili exchanged a quick glance, nodding once. “Perfect. Gives us plenty of time to begin our journey and then load up on food so we can keep going,” the blond agreed.  
  
Bilbo’s heart clenched and he turned back toward his cooking. Right. Late morning or so, that’s when Thorin bloody Oakenshield would be arriving. And Folco would not be present when he finally did, he would make sure of that.  
  
He wondered if he might not die of a heart attack before then, though, as he heard the three behind him snickering at no doubt their plans for ‘adventuring.’  
  
Before Bilbo really knew it, he had served breakfast and was watching his son go from dainty bites to shoveling it in his muzzle like any respectable dwarf before he was chastised. The hobbit knew if he ate too quickly he’d be losing it before they even began their fun and that just wouldn’t do. Then, much to his dismay, breakfast was finished and dishes were washed and Folco was bouncing on his feet, begging him to go outside with his two cousins. Not that he knew they were his cousins yet.  
  
And so Bilbo let Kili swoop his son up onto his shoulders and watched as he bolted out of Bag End, making sure not to smack Folco into any wooden beams as he went. Fili was right behind them and Bilbo heard what sounded suspiciously like a dagger being hidden away. Well. At least they would be safe from any hobbits that sent dirty looks their way, he supposed. Or whatever imaginary creatures they may run into but _goodness gracious,_ he hoped Fili wouldn’t brandish any weapons near his son! _Dwarves_.  
  
——  
  
It was nearly two hours later before Bilbo’s smial door burst open and he heard his son hollering, “ _Shamukh! Shamukh!_ Papa! Oh, Papa, listen! _Shamukh!_ ”  
  
The fauntling skittered into his sitting room and nearly barreled into Bilbo's lap in his eagerness where he sat on his armchair. He had just barely managed to hastily toss his book away so neither would experience any injury. He blinked at his son beaming at him, mind attempting to catch up, Fili and Kili marching into the room behind him.  
  
He laughed in realization. “ _Shamukh_ , my dear boy!” he returned, smiling when Folco giggled.  
  
“You can’t speak Khuzdul, Papa!” he chastised, gripping Bilbo’s trousers at his knees and tugging at them.  
  
The hobbit snorted. “And neither can you, but I still know a greeting when I hear it!” he said, grabbing his son and yanking him into his lap so he could give him a great big hug. “Did you slay any dragons while you were out and about on your adventure?”  
  
Folco whined in distress until he was able to slither off his father's lap again, hopping in place, eyes darting between the three grownups in the room, too eager to tell his stories. Bilbo lamented that he wouldn’t get a nap or two in today given his excitement and accepted what would likely end up an even worse day than it was already promising to be.  
  
“No! No dragons, Fili said they live waaaay in the North and not here. We killed two wolves and a _warg_. Like the wargs in your stories! He was big and ugly and drooled everywhere!” he announced. “Kili got him with an arrow right _here!_ ” He poked himself in the ribs before he grinned. “And I finished him off with my sword, right through his hairy neck!” A dramatic reenactment of a thrusted sword.  
  
Bilbo was terrified to ask if any small part of that held any truth. He had a very strong feeling arrows and at least a dagger had been passed around when they were gone.  
  
“Oh my! Got your first warg, did you? That’s my son alright, already a little warg-slayer,” he said proudly while shooting a glare at the brothers. Kili grinned cheekily back at him but it was Fili who caught his attention. The blond was smiling but his arms were crossed tight and Bilbo could read the tension in his shoulders. His own heart stuttered and he swallowed.  
  
“Everything else go alright?” he asked cautiously, Folco pausing right as he began another tale before he gasped again.  
  
“Oh! Oh, I met another dwarf and he had big hair like this,” he said, awkwardly flailing his arms for a moment until he managed what Bilbo knew was distinctly _Nori_.  
  
Well. Not good. Not good at all.  
  
Fili sighed as he stepped closer, brow furrowed. “He came by to let us know _he’s_ twenty minutes out. Wanted us to have a bit of a warning. I suppose he isn’t all that pleased with us,” he said, smirking wryly at him. “Disappointment follows us all the way to the Shire.”  
  
“Disappointment? Who? He? Is someone else coming to be a houseguest?” his son inquired, looking between Bilbo and Fili. “Is he another dwarf?!”  
  
Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose before he stood from the chair, settling his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Possibly! I have a many number of friends of all kinds, you know. Hobbits, dwarves, elves, orcs, wizards, Men! Friend to all,” he announced cheerily, winking down at him.  
  
Folco gasped. “You can’t be friends with orcs! They’re not friendly, they’re evil and will try to eat you!” he cried, sounding entirely scandalized at the very idea. “ _Papa!_ ”  
  
Bilbo laughed genuinely at his dismay, pinching his son’s side. “Goodness, of course you are right. I’m not friends with any nasty orcs. They are indeed horrid creatures that I should never like to see again in my life,” he said, smiling before he looked back to the brothers. They both looked a bit stressed now, even with smiles still on their faces.  
  
He cleared his throat. “Alright, my boy. I may have another houseguest but it’ll be a _very serious_ conversation I’ll be having, most decidedly for grownups only. I’ll wrap you up a few scones and you’re going to go spend time with Mister and Missus Gamgee. Ah ah!” he hushed as his son opened his mouth to protest. “It won’t be for long and I will hear no arguments. Fili and Kili will be here when you come back home but we have important business to discuss.”  
  
“Like what?” Folco moaned, letting himself be herded toward the kitchen, dragging his feet.  
  
“I could have _sworn_ I just said it was for grownups only,” Bilbo mused and received such a _Thorin_ glare in return it hurt.  
  
“Are they secrets?” Folco asked. “Can they be traded for anything?”  
  
“What?” the hobbit asked in confusion before he snorted. “ _No_ , you rascal, no secrets to be _bargained_ for. I’ll speak with you all about it when you get home but no more for now. Fetch me those scones.” He gestured toward the plate of them in the corner of the kitchen as he grabbed a small wicker basket from his cupboards. Folco was blessedly silent as he helped his father lay a towel down before they deposited the scones in. Not a speck would be returning, Bilbo knew that for sure.  
  
Ah, well. It always helped him calm himself when he baked and scones were the perfect excuse for it.  
  
Bilbo ushered his son out of his hobbit-hole with minimal complaining after he asked the brothers to join them. A whining fauntling or a gobsmacked Hamfast - he knew which way he leaned! And indeed a shout of ‘Mister Bilbo! Are these your dwarves?’ met him as soon as his friend had opened his door. Once Folco had spotted one of Hamfast's sons, he had darted into the smial without a hello or goodbye, squealing about the treats he brought to share.  
  
Somehow, before Bilbo knew it, they were in a rather deep discussion about different types of melons, Kili listening with oddly rapt attention. Fili seemed so fascinated just to be in another hobbit’s presence that he was snared in as well. Yavanna save him from the attention span of dwarves.  
  
“That’s perfect, Hamfast, but I’m terribly sorry, we must be going before, er, the other one comes. You three can continue this discussion when we pick up Folco?” he suggested a bit desperately, eyes darting to the road and back.  
  
“Oh! Yes, of course, Mister Bilbo! Is that one that king of yours?” Hamfast asked, a frown taking over his face as he shot a quick glare to the road himself. “Well, you just let me know if you’re needing any help, Mister Bilbo.”  
  
“Er, yes. Thank you, Hamfast, truly, you are helping me immensely now. I’ll be back to fetch my lad as soon as I can,” he rushed, grabbing Fili’s arm and beginning to tug him along.  
  
“Nonsense! Take as much time as you need. Or little, whatever you’re aiming for! Little Folco is always most welcome whatever the occasion might be,” Hamfast called as they bustled down to his gate, beaming once more.  
  
Bilbo shouted out another sincere thank you before he hurried up the hill with his two dwarves. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he muttered as they moved into his own yard a moment later. “I don’t know _how_ to do this. I really truly don’t. How do I speak with him? What do I say to him?”  
  
Kili clamped his hands on the hobbit’s shoulders, dipping his head with his eyebrows raised. “You’ll be fine. You’re _always_ fine, Bilbo. Don’t be afraid of him, trust us, he’s going to be plenty afraid of you right now. If you want us to stick around, we can. Maybe instead of waiting somewhere out here, we can sit in front of the fire. Privacy but we’re there if you need us!” he said, grinning encouragingly.  
  
For whatever reason, it made Bilbo entirely frustrated with himself. “Oh for- goodness, I don’t need _you_ two to watch out for me. I’ll be alright, I don’t know why I’m fretting. Habits I suppose,” he grumbled. “We’ll see how it goes, alright? Come on then, best not stand out here like this.”  
  
He waved the two dwarves in, ignoring the uncertain, confused glances they shared between themselves, moving into the comfort of his home. He would be alright in Bag End. He was the Master of it, after all.  
  
Bilbo moved to his kitchen to begin a fresh kettle of tea, Fili and Kili sitting at the table behind him. Well. He could feel the sharp tension in the air so perhaps it wasn’t all that comfortable, but it was manageable. As he poured three cups of tea with trembling hands, wincing at every small noise he heard, he was hit with the realness of it all. Thorin would be in his home again. King of Erebor, traveled across Middle Earth to see him, to see his son - it wasn’t an odd dream, it was happening to him, right at that moment.  
  
Fili laid a hand over his arm and Bilbo blinked, starting as he realized he was just about to overfill the cup, straightening his kettle out. “Oh, thank you, sorry. Bit lost there for a moment, realized you two are actually here and your goat of an uncle is actually going to be here as well,” he muttered, collapsing into his chair.  
  
Nearly the moment he did his bell rang and he groaned loudly, dropping his head forward and onto the table. “Yavanna’s leaves,” he sighed out before shoving himself back to his feet and sending a hot glare out of his kitchen and down the hall.  
  
“The goat is here,” Kili announced and Bilbo found he was able to at least smile ruefully at that. “We’re coming with you.”  
  
“You two are answering the door,” Bilbo corrected, raising his eyebrows between them as they stood and followed the hobbit through his smial. Save himself from a fainting spell perhaps. He stared at the door, not having a lick of trouble imagining Thorin on the other side of it, like the night he met him. Well, if he called him a grocer again, he would get a punch square in his eye and a foot straight to his groin.  
  
Fili and Kili wrinkled their noses at him as they realized they were very much answering the door, given that the hobbit had stopped to lean against the wall he was fairly certain Dori had been against when he was called a grocer. He crossed his arms firmly over his chest and narrowed his eyes as the lads sighed together before Kili pulled the door open. Sacrifices had to be made.  
  
And yes. There he was.  
  
Thorin _bloody_ Oakenshield.  
  
Well, his shoulder and arm from what Bilbo could see. There was a brief beat of silence before he heard a sigh that did not come from the two dwarves in his smial. “Fili. Kili,” Thorin said, resigned at seeing his nephews already there and obviously comfortable, given the state of their dress. Bilbo clamped his eyes shut tight as he heard that blasted voice for the first time in so many years. He dreamt of it and wished he could forget it at the same time. It crept up on him when he least expected it and was always cause for a quick jaunt up and down Bagshot Row.  
  
“Uncle,” the boys chimed together. There was another moment of silence and Bilbo could _hear_ Thorin’s eyebrows arching at them.  
  
“Is Master Baggins at home?” he asked, tone bordering on impatient. The hobbit rolled his eyes.  
  
“Yes, Master Baggins is at home,” he called, feeling more than a bit foolish and moved forward, catching Thorin’s attention immediately. Those blue eyes met his and they both froze. Bilbo shook himself out of it first, clearing his throat. “Come in, Thorin.”  
  
Fili and Kili moved out of their uncle’s way, though it didn’t do much given how it seemed as if he had turned to stone and didn’t so much as twitch. When Bilbo raised his eyebrows to his hairline, the dwarf visibly started, taking a few cautious steps into the smial, sweeping his gaze around it before he looked at the hobbit again.  
  
Bilbo wasn’t sure if he was looking for Gandalf to be hidden in a corner and ready to actually turn him to stone or if he honestly expected a fauntling to be running around. Or perhaps he was still just paranoid.  
  
Fili thrust his hand out and inclined his head toward the clasp of his uncle’s traveling cloak and the dwarf took his cue, pulling it off and pushing it into the blond’s hands. Bilbo held his stare without issue, but his insides were currently a raging storm.  
  
He could hear his heart in his ears and wondered if anyone else in the room might hear it too. It was a good thing he hadn’t just eaten because he was also feeling mildly ill, stomach roiling like waves. And honestly, Thorin looked how he felt, so he suspected he wasn’t alone at least.  
  
He looked much the same as the last time Bilbo had seen him otherwise. Well, before the battle. His face hadn’t changed a bit and from what the hobbit could see, he had the same amount of grey streaked through his black hair. The aging of dwarves.  
  
The King Under the Mountain was dressed in clothing so similar to the night Bilbo had met him that he nearly wanted to turn on his heel and storm away so he didn’t have to look at him. Blue fabric covered in black leather, hiding a hint of mail underneath it all. Nothing that screamed ‘king’ to him except Thorin’s bearing and he knew that was for safer travels but for whatever reason, it still irked him. He wasn’t dressed like a king, no.  
  
He was dressed like _Thorin_. That’s all he was there, obviously all he meant himself to be. He hadn’t come as a king, he came as the dwarf with hope for a better future just as he had nearly seven years prior.  
  
“Master Baggins,” Thorin managed to say, voice slightly strained. “It is… good to see you again. You look… well.”  
  
Bilbo watched as Fili rubbed a hand slowly down his own face and Kili buried his completely in both hands. He himself furrowed his brow at Thorin, giving him a bit of a disbelieving look - were those truly his first words to him?  
  
He almost found himself taking pity on the blasted dwarf for the look of pain crossing his face before he shook his head. He took a few steps closer to Bilbo, his eyes roaming over his face before they settled on his own again.  
  
“Bilbo, I am glad to see you. I would speak with you, if you’ll have me. We have much to discuss. I have much to tell you,” he said ever so quietly. “May I have some of your time, much as I don’t deserve it?”  
  
The hobbit squinted his eyes skeptically at him before he glanced back at Fili and Kili. Now that Thorin was actually here, he wondered if he shouldn’t keep them around, but… well, it was really just between them, wasn’t it?  
  
“If you two don’t mind giving us some privacy? Think we might need it,” he said, sending them a pointed look. They exchanged a hesitant glance before they both formally bowed their heads to him.  
  
“Of course, Bilbo. We won’t be far,” Kili said and it didn’t need to be a direct threat - they could all hear it. They would be near if anything were to go sour.  
  
Bilbo knew it wouldn’t, not in the way they were thinking. He knew when he first laid eyes on the king that he didn’t need any protection but he rather craved support. He could get it later, when all was said and done, he would definitely need it then. Now he needed to rely on himself and show Thorin he wasn’t afraid to give him the what-for.  
  
The king turned to look back at his nephews as they stepped out of the smial, boring their eyes into their uncle’s before Fili pulled the door closed behind him. It felt like at least one string of tension had been cut and with the way Thorin sighed and hunched his shoulders, he felt it too. He turned back to Bilbo, clenching his hands into fists, clearly not sure what he should be doing with them. He looked so terribly uncertain in every way.  
  
The hobbit eyed him before he shook his head. “Come on, I’ve got tea, let’s go sit down,” he muttered, motioning for the dwarf to follow him. “Though I have to say, not really giving me a choice to have you here or not doesn’t show me you’re all that concerned about my time.”  
  
He poured Thorin a cup of tea before he heavily sat down, watching the king hesitantly do so as well across from him, wearing a grimace.  
  
“I am sorry. If you wish for it at any time, I will leave. In my haste to travel here I found myself concerned if you had much warning of my arrival you may not be here when I came. I couldn’t risk it, Bilbo, I had to see you,” he said honestly. Well. At least he admitted that, even though it was offensive in and of itself!  
  
Oh bother it all, he had very much thought of turning tail and running so maybe it wasn’t all that unfounded for Thorin to be concerned over such a thing - and the dwarf knew it too.  
  
“Yes, well. Still. _Principle_ of the matter and all,” Bilbo muttered, unable to help himself. The dwarf didn’t miss it either, flinching as if the hobbit had attempted to strike him, his eyes lowering to the table.  
  
“I won’t ask you to forgive me for the pain I’ve caused you. I wish every day I could take it back but I know I cannot, it’s far too late for any such attempts. I am sorry, Bilbo, I _am_ ,” he implored, locking his blue eyes back onto hazel ones. “There are no excuses for my actions, from the moment we stepped into Erebor and since then. I have tried to find them for myself when I ask why I chose to continue your banishment and I can find nothing but dark pride and bitter resentment. I did not want to forgive you for the pain you caused me, no matter how much it needed to be done. I was a fool to be hurt by it to start but I’ve brought shame upon myself in wishing you to feel that pain as well. Even after it all ended I could not find it in myself to let the matter go. I do not entirely know why.”  
  
Bilbo swallowed, tapping his thumbs quickly against the table, not quite sure if he was entirely prepared for this; not to jump right into it at least. Thorin’s honesty almost felt as badly as his harshness in the past. “I’m sorry but ‘I do not entirely know why’ isn’t very acceptable for me,” he managed, unable to look at the blasted dwarf anymore. “I think you might know perfectly well why that sort of thing may have happened.”  
  
Thorin was silent before he shifted in his chair, leaning forward against the table as if closing the distance could possibly make anything better.  
  
“Yes, I do. My pride. It has always been my downfall. Even when I know it is causing harm I embrace it because it is… simple that way. And not even the retaking of Erebor, the destruction of Smaug or Azog, could save me from it. I have never done well with perceived slights, I think you know that, and yet I learned nothing from it and turned myself against you. For my own _pride_ ,” he spat, tone full of so much scorn Bilbo wondered if that whole self-hatred thing was actually very true. “I cast aside my own heart to remain seated with it. I could not learn humility, even after you taught me the way how to.”  
  
“And _when_ did you realize all of this, Thorin?” Bilbo bit out, glaring across the table at the dwarf. “ _When_ did you have these self-reflections?”  
  
Thorin at least looked properly guilty. “I- not long after you had gone. Within months,” he admitted, face contorting in pain.  
  
Bilbo snorted. “Your nephews said as much. That was quite a few years ago and yet you’re only just now here. You didn’t even bother to write me a letter in all this time,” he hissed. “ _Years_ , Thorin! Years and you’ve been feeling this way? If it wasn’t your blasted _pride_ keeping you from apologizing, then what was it this time?”  
  
He was a bit taken aback when Thorin laughed, no actual humor reaching his shining eyes. The sound grated on the hobbit’s ears. “I did not want to _remind_ you of it all. I knew you would forgive me if I asked for it because you are far too good of a person and I did not want to let you. I did not think I could stand it if I were to see your forgiveness in a letter or even in person, if I had come here sooner. I wanted you to forget me and what I put you through. Every time I sat down to write to you I would tell myself it would only cause you more pain to receive such a pathetic thing, an apology on a sheet of paper. You deserved better and yet I foolishly held back. I finally decided to leave you be, to never again force myself upon you. I wanted you to find happiness here,” he said, voice far too broken for Bilbo to bear.  
  
He stood, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, forcing himself to swallow down his own emotions. “I think that was my choice to make, to forgive you or not. I think I _deserved_ that choice,” he said, voice rough. “You were being a coward. _Again_. You’ve almost always tried to take my choices from me and even though you may have felt what you'd done you chose to take my ability to accept it or not, to forgive you or not. That was _my choice!”_  
  
“It was,” Thorin readily agreed, defeated. “It _should_ have been. Another way in which I have failed you. I don’t know what it is about you, Bilbo Baggins, that causes me to become more selfish than I have been in all my life, through no fault of yours. I think it is because you frightened me. You were the opposite of everything I accused you of being. You handed me my life back numerous times, you helped me retake my home. I feared you because of how wrong I was about you. And then I loved you and that terrified me further. And in my fear, in my _cowardice_ , I turned that back onto you. That is something I can never forgive myself for. But I am sorry for having done it. I received a gift from Mahal and spat it back in his face. I will never deserve to step into his Halls for all that I have wronged you.”  
  
Bilbo paced as he listened to the dwarf, nose twitching whenever Thorin’s voice cracked on a word. All of this, everything he was saying, he had obviously been weighed down by it for quite some time. And he genuinely meant it all but it _just angered him more._  
  
“That’s all well and good,” Bilbo said after a moment of pacing, gathering his thoughts the best he could so he wouldn’t begin to shout or stomp his foot like a fauntling. “But you never would have told me any of this. You would have let that pain just- just _sit there_ , for the rest of both of our lives! You’re only here because you felt you had no choice now! Don’t think I don’t know you, Thorin Oakenshield. Yes, a coward you will forever be, when you continue to put yourself in front of the ones you claim to love. Be it your family or myself!”  
  
Thorin stood so suddenly Bilbo nearly jumped out of his skin, faltering in his steps and looking at the dwarf with wide eyes.  
  
“I know this!” he said angrily, hitting the heel of his palm against the table, the tea cups rattling for it. “I know what I am. I did not want to believe it but I do and I have never been so ashamed in all my life. I can see the pain that I ran from in your eyes and I wish nothing more than to take it from you but I cannot! I have loved you for many long years but I can barely look at you even now, to see what I’ve done reflected back at me. I will not run from it anymore. You deserved so much more in this life and I took it from you.”  
  
Bilbo sniffed, wiping at his cheeks and glowering at the king. “I won’t feel sorry for you, if that’s what you’re aiming for,” he bit.  
  
The dwarf seemed unable to help the frustrated growl that ripped from his throat. “I am not. I do not want you to, I am speaking plainly!” he nearly barked, before visibly forcing himself down. “I did not know what to expect when I came here though I _should_ have. You wear your heart on your sleeve and I can see the damage I’ve caused it. I am sorry, Bilbo. I am sorry.”  
  
All poetics aside, it was decent enough for an apology. One that he had been waiting for for much too long. And he had to give Thorin an extra nod for not inquiring about their son yet - he wanted to make sure Bilbo knew this was for him, first and foremost. Their child may have gotten him moving but he could go no further until he worked through him and the dwarf apparently recognized that.  
  
Bilbo brushed a few more angry tears away, waving his free hand at Thorin to get him to be quiet. He needed a moment to process all of this. His dwarf clearly did not expect to feel so raw over it all when he looked at him and saw the hurt he caused. The most selfish part of him jeered at the thought of Thorin finally paying some of his dues before he admonished himself, digging his nails into his palms. _No_. That kind of thinking is what got them there. He would not take pleasure in Thorin’s own pain.  
  
The hobbit inhaled, holding his breath until it hurt, letting it out in gusty sigh. “I can’t forgive you, not right here and now, you know I can’t,” he said quietly, pressing his palms into his eyes to try and get a hold of his tears. He looked back at the dwarf as he dropped his arms and gestured helplessly. “I don’t even know how to feel about seeing you in my home once more, let alone all the rest of it. You’ll always have my heart, Thorin, as much as you shouldn’t. It is hard to have you here but I appreciate the… efforts in which you have gone to. I actually mean that. You didn’t have to pack up and come here, you could’ve ignored what you were told and continued to pretend none of it had happened. But I do see that you’re sorry for all that you’ve done. In a way that makes it all the worse because until your nephews barreled back into my life I thought you likely _hated_ me.”  
  
Thorin flinched. “I could never,” he breathed, gripping Bilbo’s table, his knuckles white.  
  
“Yes, I can see that now, thank you,” the hobbit muttered. “It doesn’t make the years I’ve lived feeling that way go away, does it? And I do have a constant reminder of you, as you well know by this point, couldn’t just brush everything under the rug. I even got annoyed with myself that I couldn’t be angry with you for that! You didn’t know about it by my choice but I was glad to have met you for the good you did leave me with.”  
  
The king seemed to move forward before he realized it, stepping around the table and nearer to the hobbit, one hand held in the air before he stopped. “So he was not speaking falsely in any way with his words. I thought not but I did not know how to accept it,” he murmured, stepping back in his conversation with Thranduil. “I cannot… Bilbo, I cannot think of the words for it. I’ve found myself lost since I spoke with the elf.”  
  
Bilbo huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yes, well. He’ll be getting a scathing letter from me, make no mistake,” he mumbled. “If there was a way you had to find out that was not in my control that wasn’t the one I would have picked. But no, he got rather intimate with the whole situation and he did not speak falsely.”  
  
Thorin let out a broken noise, turning away ever so slightly and Bilbo refused to look at him - he didn’t want to see tears. Nope, he could not. It would be his undoing.  
  
“Bilbo,” the dwarf whispered. “I- we have a _child_. I know I did not deserve to be a part of their life but all the same I find myself despairing over not having known them. For leaving you alone with the responsibility of it all.”  
  
“That was my choice, actually, and I did perfectly well with it, thank you. With all parts of it, except for that rocky beginning when I realized it. He is my responsibility and not yours,” the hobbit said very firmly. “I am glad to be responsible for him.”  
  
“Him,” he heard Thorin murmur so quietly he probably wasn’t meant to. “I do not know how to express how I feel. I do not wish to offend you further but there is another empty part of my heart now and I- I cannot ask to fill it but I should like to meet my son.”  
  
Bilbo finally looked at the dwarf, wincing at, yes, tears swimming in his eyes but not quite falling. “Yes, I figured you might and I’m perfectly fine with that. He’s not here obviously, and I need for us to be in a different place before you do but of course you can meet him,” he said, nodding. “I won’t take that from you.”  
  
Thorin let out a shaky breath before he audibly swallowed. “Thank you,” he whispered, taking one step closer to the hobbit. “Bilbo, I find myself faced with a decision I must make. I was prepared to examine it in my time here but I believe I know what I must do.”  
  
The hobbit blanched - he looked far too determined suddenly. “Oh, no. Please do not make any decisions while we’re both upset, you are already terrifying me with whatever you’re thinking so stop it at once,” he said quickly, waving his hands. The dwarf sent him a rueful smile.  
  
“I have been thinking of it for years but especially so after my conversation with Thranduil,” he said, just barely hesitating over the elf king’s name. He stepped closer and promptly dropped to a kneeling position, hand sliding to his side and pulling out a dagger.  
  
Bilbo felt his heart skip a beat, not having expected that at all and if the blasted dwarf hurt himself he would cuff him a good one. “Thorin,” he said in alarm but the dwarf shook his hair over his left shoulder, ever present braid remaining due to its weight. He brought the dagger to his temple and quite easily cut it off, not looking the least bit pained by it.  
  
The hobbit stared, horrified, as the dwarf held it in his hands before he held it up to him. “If my beard were not already shorn I would cut it for you as well. This is part of my shame, so others can see I have caused harm. I should have done it long ago,” he murmured, staring up at Bilbo.  
  
“ _Thorin_ ,” he sputtered. “W-What? Why- oh for Eru’s _sake,_ this is one of those blasted dwarven traditions, isn’t it?” He received a grave nod in answer and groaned, staring down at the braid in despair, fisting his hands through his own hair.  
  
“I wish you hadn’t. You didn’t need to,” he mumbled, wincing as Thorin shoved it a bit closer to him. He took it, looking at the bead and recognizing it as mithril, the rune of Durin etched into it. It was hauntingly familiar and still very beautiful. He hastily set it aside on his table - that was the very last thing he could have wanted! _Fool of a dwarf!_  
  
“I did. It is our way. I should take more and I will,” he said simply. Bilbo scoffed.  
  
“Do not touch one more hair on your head, Thorin Oakenshield. Goodness gracious, I will never understand you lot,” he huffed, shaking his head and looking at the king’s shoulder, where the braid normally lay. His hair covered the shorn area for the most part so it wasn’t shockingly noticeable until one looked at the remaining braid. “So when you sit up on your great big throne your people get to see you’ve brought shame to yourself?”  
  
“If I were to remain on the throne, yes, that is where they would see it first,” Thorin answered quietly and Bilbo started. He slowly raised his eyebrows at the king. The _king_. “I wish to abdicate my claim and pass it to Fili, with Dis as his foremost royal advisor, to help him through it as he is still young yet.”  
  
Bilbo swayed and reached out to grab his chair to keep on his own two feet. “You wish to _abdicate? What?_ You want to get rid of everything we nearly _killed_ ourselves over for this?!” he exclaimed in shock. “For Eru’s sake, Thorin, what are you _thinking- no!_ ”  
  
“I do not deserve the throne. I am not a fit king. I thought that perhaps I was, that I would grow to become a great one, to not repeat the mistakes of my lineage. But I have and committed a grievous crime in wronging you the way that I have. Banishing my love for unfounded reasons is enough of an offense alone to concede the throne to another. I cannot rule Erebor while I have shown a great tendency to be selfish - a king should not be and therefore a king I am not.”  
  
“Y-You- there is- you can’t- oh bother it all, Thorin, absolutely not!” Bilbo cried. “From my understanding, Erebor is doing very well with you on the throne and I didn’t risk my life for you to spend a few years on it and then abandon it! None of us did!”  
  
His dwarf sighed, looking down and over the dagger he was holding in his palm. “I would not be abandoning it. I do not deserve it, Bilbo. In the eyes of my people, if they knew all that I have done, they would make certain I was not on the throne,” he implored as he looked back to him. “Pride, selfishness, the gold sickness I fell to… these were all faults of my grandfather. I am not my grandfather, I refuse to be. He should have left the throne long before he was forced to - Erebor was prosperous but it was led by a mad, cruel king. I will not continue further down his path than I have already ventured.”  
  
Bilbo needed to sit down. He dragged the chair he was holding onto further out and sank into it. “Thorin. You’re _not_ your grandfather, you are more than capable of changing the path you’ve stepped onto while remaining on the throne. I understand what you are saying and why you are saying it but I despise the very thought of it! And it seems near enough to taking an easy way out,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes.  
  
Thorin put his dagger away, rubbing one of his hands along his face before he shifted closer to the hobbit, still kneeling. “Do you think not being the King of Erebor frees me of responsibilities that I chose to take on? It _takes_ them from me, not having those responsibilities pains me to think of for it is my birthright. My people have rejoiced to see me there. I would not simply be leaving duties that I have - duties that I gladly tend to - I would be leaving my people in the hands of another. I would be leaving the future of my home in the hands of another, which I previously never thought a possibility before our quest. It is a loss to me, Bilbo, it is not freedom. Erebor holds part of my heart - I am a son of Durin. And I will see it gone in my attempt to make recompense. It is our way,” he explained so gently, already accepting it for himself, that it was breaking Bilbo’s heart.  
  
“Yes, well. I would much prefer to see you stay there and try to better yourself while _on the throne_. Take everything off the table to do with me- no, I am using it as an _example_ , Thorin, for _Eru’s_ sake- take everything off and look at what you have accomplished in your life. You’ve done better for your people than many of your kings in the past have! If it weren’t for you, your people might not have _survived_. Perhaps it’s selfish of me, but if I can _request_ a way for you to make recompense, at least a bit, I’d ask you stay on the throne that we all fought for, _your_ throne,” he said, waving his arm through the air in frustration. Yavanna give him patience with the dwarf!  
  
Thorin himself appeared as if he were begging Mahal for patience with the hobbit.  
  
“ _Bilbo_ ,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands for a moment before looking at the hobbit in exasperation. “I am here to apologize to you for what I have done and you are still trying to fight for what you think is best for myself. I wish you would not. I could not, in any good conscience, stay on the throne of Erebor. It is the dwarven way. I will not ignore the way of my own people anymore, it is why I am here and you are not at my side in Erebor, with our son.”  
  
That just wasn’t fair. Bilbo turned half away from the dwarf, setting one of his elbows on the table and dropping his chin into his hand. Tears were in his eyes and he wasn’t sure if he should just embrace them or not at this point!  
  
“Who is to say I would have wanted that position?” he asked as loftily as he could because he needed to veer away from that.  
  
“ _You_. Many times. Whenever you told me what you would do as my consort,” the dwarf said entirely truthfully, still with a hint of that exasperation.  
  
Bilbo laughed against his hand, unable to help it as he glanced sidelong at Thorin. “We were only in that place for a few short weeks. I feel as if I were entertaining a fantasy, it’s so far in the past now,” he said quietly with a shrug of his shoulder. “I would have you on the throne, Thorin, I really would. I don’t know if I would ever feel right if you weren’t.”  
  
“As I would never feel right sitting on it,” Thorin returned quietly.  
  
It hit Bilbo like a wheelbarrow of pumpkins and he pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes. Right. Well. In his mind, Thorin deserved Erebor, but in his heart he knew Erebor did not deserve a king that didn’t wish to be one due to his failings, that did not feel it would be right. He didn’t even want to entertain the idea of all the ways in which that could go terribly wrong. He sniffed as he wiped his cheeks, looking back at the king.  
  
“You are making it very difficult for me to get what I want,” he informed him, voice a bit more froggy than he would have liked.  
  
Thorin gave a fleeting smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Loath as I am to do that to you, it is right. By my people it is right. By you it is right,” he said with an inclination of his head. “I must do this.”  
  
Bilbo gave a heavy, resigned sigh, flapping his lips as he slouched down in his chair, looking down and over his furry feet. “Suppose I can’t stop you, if that’s what you feel is right. I know you said you’ve been thinking of it for a few years but, ah, if you want to think on it for a few more I’m sure it won’t hurt,” he suggested and smiled at the look he got. “Fine. Abdicate, set that nephew of yours on the throne, I shall bring biscuits and we’ll watch it burn together.”  
  
The dwarf chuckled. “Fili does well on the council. He has inherited the cunning of his mother and for that I am grateful. I have complete confidence in him. With Dis and Balin at his side, he will do no wrong,” he said, finally pushing himself to his feet. “He will rule for many long years and rid the line of Durin of all its curses. He holds none in him.”  
  
“I would say there is one he holds in him and that is complete and utter denseness. I cannot believe the things that come out of _either_ of their mouths sometimes, I really cannot. Yours as well but that should go without saying,” Bilbo mumbled with a shake of his head. “But I suppose they’re good lads. I’m actually quite happy they’re here, I’ve missed them terribly and they have been most kind.”  
  
“You will have to remind me of what that is like. I deserved this but I cannot seem to recall what their kindness feels like,” Thorin stated with a wry smile as he moved into the chair on the corner of the table next to Bilbo. “The Company has made it clear in how they feel of my treatment of you. In a way, I am glad for it. They have shown their quality in doing so. I wish I had listened to them when they first begged me to see reason.”  
  
Bilbo shrugged. “We can’t get stuck in wishes and what if’s or we will surely never find our way out. We must simply move forward from here,” he said easily. “I am glad for their support, I did see it in their letters. Most unsavory things were said about you for the first year or so.” He waggled his finger at the dwarf.  
  
Thorin snorted. “I can imagine,” he said drily. “Perhaps they’ll look at me in a better light in the years to come. I can only hope.”  
  
“You may not get that from Bofur, I learned some most colorfully crude words and expressions I never imagined could exist in all my life,” Bilbo declared before he stood, motioning the dwarf up. “I have taken to using them in conversations with my good neighbor Hamfast as it is most amusing to see him need a moment to sit down while scolding me. I have cut back recently lest I leave his lovely wife Bell alone with their ever growing flock.”  
  
The dwarf laughed, a painfully familiar grin taking over his face, shaking his head at him. “Cruel hobbit,” he murmured. “You have taken on some dwarven traits.”  
  
“If you spent over a year with hobbits, you may just take on some of our traits,” Bilbo said, waving his finger back at the dwarf again as they moved along through his smial. “Now, much as I’m loath to kick you out, I am afraid I must. You’ve had enough of my time for today. I need to scoop up the rascal and try to corral him into a nap, if I can. Those nephews of yours have him wound up so much I fear I will not be able to and I will have an orc on my hands this evening.”  
  
“I remember those days well when my nephews were very young,” Thorin said with a soft smile. “I wish you luck. Am I leaving them in your care or would you like me to take them along?”  
  
Bilbo snorted. “Oh, just leave them be. They’re very taken with him and he them. Already slayed a warg this morning,” he informed him, unimpressed. “They want to continue ‘adventuring’ this afternoon. I can’t very well stop them from cleaning up our warg infestation, can I?” He walked the dwarf to the door and opened it, motioning with his head outside.  
  
“The Shire would be in much peril if you tried,” Thorin said with a quirk of his brow as he stepped into the light of the day. “May I see you on the morrow?”  
  
“Yes, of course. Just not ‘ere break of day, if you please, I should much like to sleep in,” Bilbo commented. “We will speak more on all of this, Thorin, don’t worry. I fear we still have much to discuss, actually, but I can’t do with anymore today. My nerves have been frayed since that raven terrified half of Hobbiton. It was the talk of the week but I don’t think it did much good for my reputation. And it was finally starting to come around!”  
  
Thorin sighed in defeat, shaking his head and looking skyward. “Someday I will do right by you, Bilbo Baggins,” he murmured as he looked back to his hobbit. “In some way, I swear it.”  
  
“Let us hope so,” Bilbo returned soberly. “Good afternoon, Thorin.”  
  
“Good afternoon, Bilbo,” the king said before he turned and walked through the yard to the gate. The hobbit sighed and closed the door, leaning heavily back against it, clamping his eyes shut before he huffed, opening it right back up.  
  
“And we will be speaking more of this throne nonsense, believe you me!” he hollered after the dwarf, watching him glance back in confusion from the Road before he seemed to want to scowl. Bilbo didn’t bother to find out if he did or not as he closed his smial door once more, locking it with a satisfied nod as he turned on his heel and moved to his sitting room. He collapsed on his father’s armchair, looked at his slowly ebbing fire, pressed his fist against his mouth and thought about having a good long cry. Surely no one could blame him for that.  
  
Either way, he could not sit next to Thorin anymore that day. Smiling and teasing with him, it broke his heart all over again because of how ridiculously easy it was and the dwarf didn’t deserve that! It came so naturally to them and goodness, he _hated_ it. Hated everything about all of this hogwash.  
  
He hated himself most of all for still loving the goat, of course, because his heart was a very traitorous thing indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Speech, speech, speech! I'll be honest. I had the majority of their conversation written out before I posted this story but seeing you all want a groveling Thorin, I was a bit more confident in the whole domesticness of this. I think Bilbo kind of deserved this after so many years. Also Folco is excited, could you tell, he was subtle about it
> 
> What's your opinion? Does Thorin's argument hold water or should Bilbo try to convince him to stay on the throne?
> 
> I hope you enjoy this one.


	5. Chapter 5

Bilbo was not sure how he had survived the last five years without Fili and Kili.                                  

Who knew that two dwarven princes were the answer to endless fauntling energy? They managed to wear Folco out so much the day before he had gotten a nap in and hadn’t turned into a cantankerous monster in the evening. As Bilbo watched them now, a ball of limbs on the rug in front of his fireplace, he mourned the idea that they would be leaving at some point. He would miss the two lads themselves when they had to return to Erebor, of course, but no hobbits around could claim to be such wonderful sitters.

Folco was snuggled in between the brothers - who were absurdly warm and therefore he didn’t need to have his blanket - with his mouth open as slept soundly. Kili looked exactly the same and it made Bilbo snort to himself as he shook his head, leaving his sitting room so he didn’t disturb them.

It seemed a perfect time for a pipe. They had finished lunch not too long before and Bilbo had watched as the three of them promptly fell asleep the moment their rears hit the ground. He would gladly take a nap himself if he weren’t so unsettled - he suspected he would continue to feel that way until Thorin Oakenshield returned to his Mountain.

The hobbit slipped outside and sat down on his smoking bench, happily lighting his pipe and puffing on it. He blew a smoke ring out and smiled smugly at how perfect it was, waving his pipe in its direction as it faded away.

He felt he had the right to try and find happiness in whatever he could at the moment, thank you very much.

Yes, Thorin Oakenshield was romping about the Shire once more and he was entirely torn on how to feel about it. He ran through their conversation from the afternoon before so many times he wondered if any of it was accurate anymore. He was known to twist around conversations - subconsciously, of course - in his mind and not know what was actually discussed and what wasn’t.

Though he certainly remembered the braid. It was now sitting on his dresser in his bedroom and he couldn’t figure out if he wanted to lob it at the dwarf’s face or into a freshly lit fire. Fool of a dwarf! Cutting his hair off like it meant nothing. Of course Bilbo was fully aware it meant quite a lot to dwarves but couldn’t he have asked him first?

And he remembered that whole abdication business, too, how could he forget? And why didn’t he ask for his permission for that either? This whole thing was about him and their son - as much as the hobbit despised that very idea.

When he found himself puffing angrily at his pipe he rued the day he met the King Under the Mountain once more.

“Bilbo?”

He would not make it to his 60th birthday, that much he knew.

Bilbo startled with a small cry, jumping nearly out of his skin as he turned to look at his gate and _how in all of Yavanna’s_ -

“ _Thorin!_ ” he admonished. “I will never understand how you can prowl about like a cat but be most loud any other time!” He scowled at the dwarf, rubbing soothing circles over his chest, where his heart was rabbiting away in protest. He could not be scared like this anymore, no indeed! It would kill him before too long!

Thorin at least looked as if he felt badly about it, if not a bit startled himself. “I am sorry,” he said, gesturing around the fence. “I hoped you might have heard me but when your eyes did not open I thought I should at least inform you of my presence. I was hoping it would not startle you.” He sighed, motioning his head at Bilbo’s gate.

The hobbit grumbled, waving his permission, taking in a very long drag of good Old Toby. “Yes, well. I would have to say you snuck up on me on purpose,” he muttered petulantly as Thorin stepped into his yard, giving him a wide berth as he moved around before he finally joined him on the bench.

“I would not dare do such a thing,” Thorin murmured, sounding entirely upset with himself. “I am trying not to have anymore missteps around you.”

“Missteps,” Bilbo repeated moodily, side-eyeing the dwarf next to him as he produced his own pipe. He wrinkled his nose as he packed it - dwarven pipeweed, horribly harsh stuff that burned his throat and his nostrils both. But when Fili and Kili had smoked with him late the night before he had foolishly teared up at the familiarity of it, so he couldn’t really complain, could he? “Well. Either way. Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon,” Thorin returned, glancing at him before he looked over the Shire. “I wish that I had taken the time to appreciate your home last I was here. It’s a beautiful sight, one that I am not used to.”

“Yes, you wouldn’t find a place like this in a mountain. Or near one. The world outside of here is beautiful as well but there _is_ a certain charm to the Shire,” Bilbo said with a nod before he promptly scowled. “You need to learn to not judge so easily. You were too busy being entirely angry about the idea of my presence last time, of course you couldn’t appreciate it!”

Thorin side-eyed him this time, huffing a bit before he took a drag from his own pipe, remaining silent otherwise.

Bilbo grumbled to himself for such a long moment that he was suddenly aware he was behaving much too like a certain wizard. “Er. Sorry,” he said, coughing into his fist. “You startled me but I shouldn’t snap at you for it. I’m afraid I still didn’t sleep much last night and after a week of it, I’m feeling a bit bothered about it all.”

The dwarf next to him inclined his head. “I’m aware,” he said and received an elbow to his ribs for his troubles. “I am sorry you were not able to get rest. I hope that changes for you before we set off for Erebor.”

“We both know it won’t,” Bilbo said with a sigh. “About that, by the way. Do you have a set date for leaving? Your nephews didn’t say and I hadn’t thought to ask yet. I know this journey was unexpected for everyone but surely you have some idea?”

Thorin shook his head. “No. I did not want to put a set date to this. I won’t make my guard travel so quickly back to Erebor, we will need to gather our strength and restock supplies before we prepare to leave. I will let you know ahead of time,” he said, looking at the hobbit with a face that was entirely too unreadable for him.

He squinted at the dwarf, watching him skeptically before he shrugged. “Yes, alright. Thank you,” he stated. “The boys are napping. They are most lucky, I wish that I could join them but an adult should remain ever aware in Bag End. I cannot let any of them out of my sight or a disaster follows. I don’t know how or when your blasted nephews managed it but I have a barrel that is very similar to ones we were intimately acquainted with in my sitting room. Much smaller, fauntling-sized, you know, crudely made so I assume they did it. They were reenacting what was frankly, for me, a rather traumatizing experience last night. Goodness, they were most excited about it, as well.”

The king chuckled, shaking his head as he looked at the hobbit with a small grin. “It is a popular story in Erebor and one the majority of the Company like to revisit. One of _many_ of your feats they like to revisit. You are well known throughout the Mountain,” he said. At Bilbo’s slightly horrified look he shrugged. “You are our burglar. There would not be a Mountain without you.”

“I should- well, you- oh for Eru’s sake. We all had a part in it, not just me,” he said, glowering out at Hobbiton as if it were the sleepy town’s fault. “I’m hardly the sole reason, you know that. I’d say it was a rather large group effort.”

Thorin sighed as he gave a nod of agreement. “Aye, it was. But all the same, we would not have a Mountain without you. I know it, the Company knows it, and Erebor now knows it. I could not have stopped them from speaking of you even if I wished for it, Bilbo,” he said, raising his voice slightly as the hobbit turned his glare on him. “You went far beyond what any of us could have hoped for. And you know it well. Consort Burglar, if I recall, was what you wished to be called.”

Bilbo felt his entire face flush, even all the way up to his pointy ears, burning hot. “Y-You- Thorin! I was not serious when I said that,” he hissed. “I _wasn’t_ , don’t look at me like that! Sweet Yavanna, why must you remind me of so many mortifying things?” He shot the dwarf the stink-eye when he had the gall to smirk - even if he tried to hide it fairly quickly.

“I never thought I would see you wish to be called burglar before then. You always seemed upset by it in the past,” Thorin said, a horrid smugness to his voice. “Another way in which you surprised me.”

The hobbit scowled at him. “Yes, hah hah. You're so terribly funny,” he muttered sarcastically. “Since you seem to be in such a jovial mood today, I would like to ruin it and continue our conversation from yesterday.”

Predictably, the proud look on the dwarf’s face slipped right off and he became somber in the blink of an eye. “You are sure?” he asked, strained. “Should we not worry about- about the lads inside?”

Bilbo tried not to wince. It was obvious Thorin had wanted to say ‘our son’ but he didn’t know if it would be welcome. If the hobbit were honest with himself, he didn’t know if it was either. There was quite a lot of weight there and they had just begun scratching at the surface of all of their, to put it mildly, issues. He was already exhausted thinking about the many conversations that would need to take place before they could perhaps part on good terms.

Even if the idea of parting from the dwarf once again left him feeling a little empty, in a massive, cavernous sort of way.

“No, I don’t think so. He will be sleeping for a while yet and I should hope your nephews have at least enough common sense to not force him awake. He is on their hands if they do,” Bilbo declared, waving his pipe toward the door behind him. “I can't stop thinking about all that we discussed yesterday and I can’t decide which part of it is more _mad_. I’ll allow the braid given the minor impact compared to _abdicating the throne of Erebor._ ”

Thorin took in a very large breath and held it, resigning himself to the fact that yes, they were continuing this conversation.

“Bilbo, I explained why I must,” he murmured quietly, no small amount of pain coloring his voice. “I will never feel comfortable holding the throne after all that I have done-"

“Oh, pish posh and hogwash, Thorin!” the hobbit interrupted, unable to help it. He stood and waggled his finger under the dwarf’s nose. “I will not go so far as to call that an excuse but it’s close enough for me to be upset about it! I understand that you believe with all your heart what you said to me yesterday but you are looking at it from a rather biased position, aren’t you? You are telling yourself you deserve nothing: no chances to better yourself further, no ways in which to redeem yourself if you remain on that throne when you think of the harm you’ve caused. But that’s just- just ridiculous! I know you are a fool, the biggest one I’ve ever known, but you can't be _this_ terrible?”

Thorin’s mouth was hanging slightly open as he stared up at Bilbo, his eyebrows raised to his hairline. “Bilbo-"

“Do you know what, Thorin? _No!_ It’s my turn, you just shut your _stupid_ mouth and listen to me,” he interrupted once again, waspishly and without a care. And he jabbed his finger into the king’s chest for good measure. “You are beating yourself up - which you should do, make no mistake - but you are doing it to the detriment of others without thinking of it! That’s what you wish _not_ to do, correct? Then think of the impact this will have on everyone you know! The Company, your family! Me! We signed those contracts because we believed in you, in your conviction and your passion, and on my part, I wanted you to have your home back, as well. You earned it, too! There were plenty of things that went terribly wrong but you still _earned_ it.

The way the Company spoke of you, back when we first started and I still wasn’t quite sure what I’d gotten myself into, _that’s_ who they were following. You became their king in front of Moria but you were their leader from the day that wyrm took over Erebor! And you _know_ that! Your people survived because of you, they created a new home because of you, and then they were able to take back what was theirs _because of you_. You called for help on the quest your fellow dwarven nobles deemed silly and we, twelve dwarves, an unreliable wizard, and a hobbit responded! And we made it to Erebor, we walked through her halls once again, we destroyed that dragon, and you destroyed the Pale Orc. Just us, Thorin, with little help otherwise! It doesn’t matter what has happened beyond that, you can’t erase those actions, you can’t! It’s an insult not only to yourself but to the others that believed in you and followed you, you absolute _oaf!_ ”

Bilbo sucked in a deep breath, not planning on stopping now that he’d gotten going. “Yes, Thorin! _Yes_ , you were terribly selfish and you changed lives because of it. Yes, that happened! But you recognized it fairly quickly and even though you yet _again_ , foolishly and selfishly, decided not to express your sorrow in that regard, you still recognized it. And you’ve worked your tail off to ensure Erebor is prosperous and that your people are happy! You do it with a chip on your shoulder but you do it nonetheless. You came here well after you should have, yes, I understand that and I don’t forgive you for it but you’re still here. You gave me the apology I deserved, no matter how late it was, and you are actively thinking of ways in which to improve yourself. Do yourself, myself, and your people a favor and continue to do it where you belong, where we can all still believe in you and follow you - _on the throne in Erebor!_ ”

If he were discussing anything else, he might laugh at the look on Thorin’s face, which could only be described as gobsmacked. He glared at him instead, jabbing him in the chest again.

“Go back to the Mountain, leave your poor nephew out of it, sit your arse down and be the king you were quite literally born to be! Better yourself there. Learn from your mistakes there. As you grow, your people grow! Your friends and family around you, as well! Everything you do has an impact on… well, everything! I should think you would have realized that by now! Just because you have faults doesn’t mean you deserve to wallow in them and cannot accomplish the things you want to or continue doing the things you love. It simply means you work on those faults so you can _continue_ doing those things! If you don’t want to bring shame to the line of Durin anymore, do not _leave_ it, strengthen it and- and do it for me, too. I want you there, you big, fat… ridiculous goat! You owe me more than you can give me, I think that’s fair to say, so at least don’t brush off what I _am_ asking for! Do you understand me, Thorin Oakenshield?”

Bilbo rested his hands on his hips and leveled him with a scathing gaze, chest rising and falling rather quickly from his sudden exertion and the emotions that came with all that was _this situation_. Yavanna save him from dwarves! They would never give him a moment's peace!

Thorin Oakenshield looked like a dwarfling who had lost his way and didn’t have any idea what to do about it. His wide eyes hadn’t left Bilbo’s once but he still managed to look shocked and terrified at the same time - either by Bilbo or his words, the hobbit wasn’t sure. He lifted his hand in the air before he dropped it back onto his lap, a small, confused noise leaving his throat.

Once he had opened his mouth and closed it twice, he seemed to finally rally himself. “Bilbo,” he all but choked out. “I do not know what to say.”

Well he sort of rallied himself.

“Good! Then I shall tell you what to say! Say that you will remain the king of Erebor, for you, for me, and for everyone else as well!” Bilbo ordered, pointing his finger down at the ground for emphasis.

Thorin frowned, eyebrows scrunching together as he continued to stare at him, gently shaking his head before he slowly stood, giving the hobbit enough time to back away and give him room. And then he stared down at him for a few very good, long moments. “Bilbo. I do not deserve you,” he finally began, raising a hand for quiet as Bilbo quite predictably opened his mouth to shout, “for all that you are wise. I often wonder where I would be had I never met you. I don’t know how any of us have continued on without you.” He smiled a little, entirely too sorrowful for the hobbit’s heart to handle. “You look at matters in a simple but practical way, a way in which I know dwarves are rarely capable of, myself most of all. If all kingdoms in Middle Earth had a Bilbo Baggins, surely this world would be a merrier place."

Bilbo blushed. How could he not? His dwarf was being ridiculous. “That’s hardly true-"

Thorin put his finger over the hobbit's lips - to shut him up. His Baggins side was horribly scandalized but his Took side told him to be quiet and let Thorin have his moment.

“It is beyond true,” the dwarf said flatly, raising his eyebrows at him. “We will do it your way. I will say the words and I will follow them: I will return to Erebor, remain its king, and better myself as I do so. This, I swear to you. I am sorry for having caused you this stress as well; it seems as if I am still more than capable of being a fool even when I think I am finally doing what is right. I wish to find a way in which we can return to our friendship from before, when I had not made it a habit to so grievously hurt and frustrate you as often as I could. I would see that end.”

Bilbo huffed. “Yes, I would as well,” he muttered. “It’s a much needed change. Perhaps we can do that, Thorin, perhaps we can. I would like it but if you’re going to be here for a while yet, you have time to prove all of this to me, hmm? And I expect you to. I suggest starting each day groveling at my feet and declaring how wise I am for all to hear.”

Thorin blinked at him before he laughed, his eyes going skyward in exasperation. “Hobbit,” he implored. “You are a mad creature. If that is what you wish, I will do it. A harsh lesson in humility.”

They grinned at each other for a quick moment before Bilbo cleared his throat, rocking back on his heels. “Good. Good, yes. Thank you for listening, Thorin, for once,” he said, smiling at the arched brow he received in return. “Truly, thank you. I will hold you to your word. Now come inside and have a cup of tea and you can meet your son when he wakes.”

He ignored the sudden look of worry on the dwarf’s face, motioning for him to follow as he walked up toward his smial door, opening it. He looked back and raised his eyebrows expectantly at Thorin, who was once again a statue, and spurred him into movement.

Bilbo let Thorin close the door behind himself and led him to his kitchen much like the day before, where he set about eagerly preparing his kettle for tea. He needed it for his nerves and also for his dry throat from ranting - he hoped none of his neighbors had been listening, but they likely had. Oh well. Might as well continue being that good rumor mill.

“I could use an ale,” Thorin said quietly from where he had taken to leaning against the counter.

Bilbo snorted. “Suppose I can’t blame you for that,” he said, motioning his head across the hall. “Help yourself. Mugs are there.” He pointed to the cupboard next to the dwarf and he went about getting himself an ale as eagerly as Bilbo did with his tea.

Once he had settled at the table and started to blow on the steaming liquid in front of him, he realized Thorin hadn’t joined him and was in fact not in the pantry across the hall anymore. The hobbit sighed. He had a feeling he knew what might have caught the dwarf’s attention.

Bilbo pushed himself back to his feet and padded quietly around the corner - and there Thorin was, standing in the archway of the sitting room, the mug of ale carefully set next to his boot. The hobbit approached him, tapping his elbow just in case he hadn’t heard him (he wished others would go to such lengths for him) and joined him in his observation of the trio still asleep on the ground.

Folco had flopped over and was lying half on top of Fili, his face smashed against his shoulder in the way only a child could stand, his little hand gripping the dwarf’s tunic. Kili had rolled onto his side as well, his arm curled against his chest and pressed firmly against the fauntling’s back. Bilbo huffed.

“If only they were this quiet all the time,” he muttered, chancing a peek at Thorin. He knew what he would find there but it still hit him right in the belly and took his breath away.

Thorin had such a soft look on his face, the faintest smile as he stared, eyes locked on his son for the first time. They were a bit wet, which made the hobbit swallow past the lump in his own throat because it always broke his heart when those blue eyes shined like that. The dwarf took in a deep breath through his nose before slowly letting it out through his mouth, lifting one of his hands to rest against Bilbo’s shoulder, gently squeezing at it.

“He is beautiful, Bilbo,” he whispered. “He has your hair.” He looked at the hobbit with a small grin as if that were very pleasing to him. Which Bilbo knew it was because he had been entirely obsessed with nosing into his own hair whenever he could.

Bilbo snorted. “Yes, he does. And your nose and your eyes,” he informed him, crossing his arms across his chest before he did something foolish like launch himself at the dwarf. “Smart as a whip, much to my dismay. Obviously my sensibilities took over the ridiculous foolishness that lies in the line of Durin. But he’s a very good lad, most kind for the most part. Chatters away to his heart's content. And I have to say I’m continuously astonished by how aware he is of others' emotions and the lengths he’ll go to put a smile on someone’s face if they seem remotely upset to him. He’s entirely popular throughout the Shire. Which is entirely unfair as I am not.” He grinned ruefully at the thought.

Thorin chuckled, shaking his head as he continued to stare at his son. “I think you don’t mind that as much as you would like others to believe,” he murmured, raising an eyebrow at the hobbit. “He is perfect, Bilbo. Perhaps I should not say it as it’s in the past now but I still despair over not having seen him grow. You will have to tell me what the years have been like with him, I should like to hear about his first moment until now. If you would not mind.”

He very well couldn't mind that, even if his eyes stung at the prospect.

“Of course. I would be glad to. I have quite the stockpile of stories to entertain you with. Though that beginning part wasn’t altogether pleasant, I’ll have you know. I think it should go without saying that I wasn’t prepared for all of it but ah, carrying was a, er, unique experience. I don’t know if it was the hobbit or dwarf in him but he was particularly fond of kicking my ribs as often as he could,” Bilbo whispered, wrinkling his nose. “Quite uncomfortable. Still a kicker, actually, if he ever needs to spend a night with me due to pesky nightmares.”

Thorin was staring so intently at him it was making him ramble and also causing sweat to gather under his collar. He was smiling but he wanted to absorb every detail about his son and Bilbo warred between feeling depressed at the idea that he would have known him had everything not happened the way it did and feeling crushed that he had to get to know his son in such a way now.

The hobbit blinked as Thorin turned more toward him, hand sliding up to rest over his belly, the other still locked on his shoulder. Oh dear. Yes indeed, his face was growing hot. He didn’t want to allow the touch to be welcome but, well, his traitorous heart was telling him it was perfectly fine and he really should not complain.

“I am not sure if this is even a question I can ask you, Bilbo, and you need not answer if you do not want to. I know I did not deserve you or him after Erebor but why did you not tell me you were capable of this? That hobbits had this gift?” he asked ever so carefully as if Bilbo might suddenly lash out. He wouldn’t - it was a fair question.

“No, I think you have the right to know that but I’m afraid the answer won’t be very poignant. I honestly didn’t even think of it. With the surprise and love I felt for you in Lake-town I was simply too taken and, ah, it didn’t even cross my mind. And in Erebor I don’t think my emotional state could have allowed me to even possibly remember that I was capable of this - or maybe in some way I didn’t think our races could breed. I haven’t any idea and I’m sorry that I didn’t make you aware of it,” he said quietly with a shrug of his shoulders. “I was a bit shocked when I realized that it had happened."

Thorin gently pressed his palm into his stomach, looking down and over the hobbit before he looked back to his eyes. Bilbo started at the tears in his again. This time they weren’t staying where they belonged, two wet trails disappearing into a dark beard. They were too much for his hobbit heart to handle - it made him feel so terribly dismal. And none of this was his fault.

The dwarf didn’t seem to care about his own tears. He bent down and pressed his forehead against Bilbo’s, his eyes slipping shut and a shaky breath leaving his nose. “Thank you for this gift. Despite everything, thank you for this gift that I know we have been blessed with. I truly don’t wish to think of leaving either of you behind but it is on the forefront of my mind now,” he whispered before he pulled back to look at his hobbit’s eyes once more. “I don’t know how I will part from my son when it is time for me to.”

Bilbo sniffled, attempting to keep a hold of his own emotions. “I think we should worry about that at a later time. You won’t be leaving for a while yet and perhaps we can think of a way for you to remain in his life in some way. We can try at least,” he said quietly. “For now, just get to know him. We will go from there."

Thorin gave one solemn nod. “You are right,” he said as he turned to look back at the three in the sitting room. “But it is still a pain that will weigh on me as I’m here, Bilbo. I never dreamed of having children, I did not think it possible. I know he is not mine in the way that he is yours but I am still blessed to have him.”

The hobbit swallowed, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking on his heels, trying to find proper words. He was a bit dismayed when he couldn’t. His dwarf looked so woebegone and he really should have expected it but it certainly didn’t mean it was easy to see. So instead he lifted his hand and patted awkwardly at Thorin’s shoulder before he waved at him to follow back to the kitchen - might as well not continue to risk waking them.

They wandered back in to nurse at their tea and ale, Bilbo telling Thorin a bit more about Fili and Kili’s time there so far and how they were with Folco. When he found himself catching up to that very day, he was entirely befuddled at how so very much had happened in such a short period of time. There didn’t seem to be enough time in the day for all their antics so far.

They found themselves sharing a plate of Bilbo’s favorite cheddar biscuits when they both froze, hearing movement from the sitting room, Thorin nearly smashing his biscuit in his hand. Even the hobbit found himself suddenly terrified - he had been fretting so much over that abdication nonsense that he hadn’t really thought about how he would handle Thorin and Folco meeting and the potential conversation of yes, that king in all of our stories, that one, he’s your _father!_ How would the fauntling handle such news?

Bilbo started as not a fauntling, but rather a full grown dwarf turned the corner and into the kitchen, pausing in a wide yawn as he got a look at his uncle. Fili blinked before he stretched his arms above his head, then pulled out a chair and sat down, leveling Thorin with a critical eye.

“Good afternoon, Uncle. I hope you’ve been kind to our dear hobbit,” he said. Said hobbit rolled his eyes and Thorin sent an unimpressed gaze the blond’s way.

“Oh, he’s been fine, Fili. A fool as he ever was but fine nonetheless. We’ve been discussing a great number of things while you’ve been lucky enough to partake in sleep,” Bilbo muttered, stuffing half a biscuit into his mouth and chewing moodily at it. He was starting to feel as he did on the Road and considering he was sitting in Bag End with all the comforts of home he was beginning to feel very disgruntled about it.

“Mmm. It was a fine nap, I have to say,” another voice said as Kili rounded the corner, eyes half closed still and a lazy grin on his face.

Bilbo could kill them, he really could.

“Kili,” Thorin greeted and the hobbit didn’t miss his eyes looking behind his nephew, searching for the third occupant of the sitting room. But Folco didn’t appear.

“Still sound asleep,” Fili informed him knowingly. “Didn’t even twitch when we got up. I believe we deserve a bit of thanks for wearing him out so much.” He grinned when Bilbo gave him a flat stare in return.

“Go take a nap later if you can, Bilbo, you know we’ll watch out for him,” Kili said as he sat, reaching over to pat the hobbit’s hand. “You deserve to get some rest. Heard you walking all about the place last night again. Now that Uncle has given you a proper apology - at least we hope he did - you might be able to get some shuteye.”

Bilbo cleared his throat, attempting to keep the blush off of his face to no avail. “Yes, well. Perhaps I will do that in a bit if I find the time, thank you. Though I still very much doubt it,” he mumbled as he grabbed his tea and took a gulp. “Your uncle may have apologized in a fairly decent manner but he keeps piling on more for me to digest around every turn it would seem.”

Despite the truthfulness of it, Thorin did not look impressed at the hobbit’s words in front of his nephews, sending a thin-lipped frown his way. “And I believe those issues have been discussed now and we have come to an agreement on such matters,” he said, hinting in a very blatant way that Bilbo was to keep his mouth shut about those matters. Oh he was, was he?

“Yes, you are right, we have. I mean, just a few moments ago we did so I’m still reeling from it all, of course. Rather reeling from _every_ thing I have to say. First that blasted raven, your delightful nephews showing up on my doorstep at bedtime, you coming here, cutting off your braid and wishing to abdicate the throne. I believe, even if we have come to an agreement on such matters, it’s not _un_ believable for me to still be a bit turned around about it all,” he said as haughtily as he could, unable to help but think of a certain elf.

Kili immediately choked on air, a gasp mingled in with a shout and he began to pound at his chest, staring at Thorin in horror. Fili had whirled around to look at him, his jaw dropping, turning ghost white in the blink of an eye, his hand gripping the table worryingly hard. They both gaped at their uncle, who had pressed his forehead into his hand, eyes clamped shut.

Bilbo sipped at his tea. Perhaps it was a bit unfair and a bit rude, yes, he could admit that. But Thorin deserved to squirm and he felt this offense was rather minor given the grand scheme of things.

“You _what?_ ” Fili finally managed to hiss out. “Abdicate…?! Are you- what do you mean, abdicate the throne? Are you joking?”

His brother looked a bit green. “Thorin!” he said indignantly. “Are you even further out of your mind than we all thought? You can’t abdicate- you bloody-"

“Enough,” Thorin snapped, managing to keep his voice down as he looked at his nephews, scowling. “It was a foolish thought and has been disregarded, which Bilbo failed to mention. I am not abdicating the throne of Erebor. I will remain its king until the day I die, Fili, you need not worry. You have many years yet to learn.” He sent his scowl the hobbit’s way, who simply shrugged.

“Ah, yes, I suppose I did forget to mention it wouldn’t actually be happening. Not that any of us would have let it, either way,” he said, looking at the brothers. “Your uncle entertained the thought given his mistakes but we discussed it and he realized, with my help, it was ludicrous indeed. Thank Eru, Fili, you will not be on the throne for a very long while yet.”

Fili looked as if he were torn between feeling relieved and still very much appalled that he was briefly expected to be tossed onto the throne without so much as a by-your-leave. “I still can’t- _Uncle!_ ” he finally managed before he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’m going to have nightmares for weeks now.”

Bilbo turned to look pointedly at Thorin, raising an eyebrow. The dwarf scowled further, grabbing his ale and taking a large drink of it, probably to refrain from scolding or calling him a Halfling or some nonsense that would get him kicked out of the place.

“ _Mahal_ ,” Kili moaned. “I thought we were doomed for a minute there. I would’ve been next in line when Fee kicked the bucket due to the stress! And no doubt I would have followed him and then _you_ would have because Mum would’ve _killed_ you. She would kill you anyway just for thinking of doing such a thing!”

“Then it is a good thing I am not,” Thorin said firmly. “So we need not speak of it further. I will remain your king.”

“Remain terrified of Mum is what you mean,” Fili huffed at him, looking scandalized by the entire conversation now. “My pipe and I now have a long discussion we must have. At this moment.” He stood, shooting Thorin one more displeased glance before he turned on his heel and wandered down the hall to the bedroom the brothers were staying in.

“Think I’ll join him,” Kili muttered, standing and giving his uncle an identical look before he turned and marched out as well. Bilbo watched them go with mild interest, finishing off his tea before he looked back at Thorin, who was glaring rather fiercely at him.

“What?” he asked innocently. “Oh I’m _sorry_ , was that a tad insensitive? You’re right, it was, and I’m not the least bit sorry about it. See? Fili would not be ready at all and you would’ve caused more harm than good, thought you might actually like to see it in action.”

Thorin sighed, heavy and long-suffering-like. “They will now be cautious of every move I make when we reach the Mountain. I was hoping I may begin to earn their respect once more but I doubt it now,” he said, shaking his head. “I did not need you to prove such a thing, Bilbo, I realized you were right when we spoke outside. I know it would have been too much to ask for.”

“And now you’ve seen it, too,” Bilbo repeated, reaching over and patting the dwarf’s hand sympathetically. “Just continuing to prove a point, my dear.” He grinned when Thorin shot him another _look_ , entirely unimpressed.

“Papa?” a small voice called from the sitting room and they both stilled, wide eyes staring at the archway out of the kitchen. Folco sounded a bit concerned about having woken up without the brothers and Bilbo inwardly cursed himself for it - his son took naps in his bed and he imagined it was a tad worrying for the fauntling.

“In the kitchen, my boy! Fili and Kili are going to enjoy their pipes for a moment!” he called, wincing. “Come and join me!"

“Oh,” he heard his son say, followed by the soft padding of fauntling feet. Folco turned around the corner, yawning so widely it looked like it might hurt, his eyes scrunched closed as he did, looking entirely like his eldest cousin had. When he opened his eyes again, he jumped in place, widening them as he caught sight of Thorin. The poor lad, endlessly shocked by dwarves appearing in his home - Bilbo could relate.

Thorin was made of stone again. He was staring at his son with his mouth hanging slightly open and Bilbo was certain he wasn’t breathing. He kicked him under the table and the dwarf started.

“Hello, little one,” Thorin managed, only the slightest tremble to his voice. “Your father and I were just speaking of you. You look very much like him indeed.”

Folco nodded, rubbing at one of his eyes as he moved a bit closer, significantly less sure of his welcome with this dwarf. Thorin certainly had a different bearing than his nephews and his son seemed to sense that. He dropped his hands to his sides and looked the king up and down.

“I do, everyone says so,” he stated without much thought before he started. “Oh! Umm… _shamukh! Shamukh_ and, um…” The boy trailed off, looking up and at the ceiling, wrinkling his nose in thought. “Ag- ag zasa… make rathka… hound!”

Bilbo was sure whatever his son had just said had been butchered beyond recognition but when he looked at Thorin, the king’s eyebrows were slowly inching up to his hairline, his mouth opening before he closed it again with a click. He blinked at the boy before glancing at the hall where Fili and Kili were attempting to make a hasty retreat outside with their pipes, visibly holding in their mirth, both red in the face.

“Fili! Kili!” Thorin barked at them and they both burst into raucous laughter, scooting down the hall and out of Bag End as quickly as possible.

Folco was beginning to look confused, looking after his cousins before he looked back at Thorin, crossing his little arms over his chest. “Did I say it bad?” he asked, sad, defensive and disappointed all at once. “We practiced for a while!”

Thorin looked back at him, slightly pained before he huffed out a laugh, standing and kneeling down in front of the fauntling. “I can tell. It was not bad, no, but we will practice it more. And once you have mastered it, you will be able to greet any dwarf in such a way,” he said, beginning to grin at Folco.

If Bilbo were not so touched, he might roll his eyes, having a strong feeling _Dwalin_ may be the dwarf on the receiving end of whatever insult or curse the boy had managed to get out of his mouth. He would be having a talking to with those brats - his son’s first lessons in Khuzdul should not have been from either of them, thank you very much.

Folco seemed to consider it for a moment before he gave two quick nods of his head. “Okay,” he agreed easily enough. “I’m Folco. Who are you? Are you in Papa’s stories as well? Fili and Kili are, they’re my favorites. I didn’t know they were coming to the Shire!”

“I am sure it was a good surprise then,” Thorin said with that same dopey smile his nephews wore. “You must tell me if I am in these stories. I am Thorin and I am honored to meet you, Folco. A very strong name.”

The fauntling grinned at him at the compliment before his face morphed into shock so quickly Bilbo snorted. “Thorin! _King_ Thorin? King Thorin Oakenshield? From Erebor?!” he asked with a gasp, swiveling his head quickly back and forth between them. “Are you really a king? The one from Papa’s stories? Did you really slay a dragon and fight orcs?”

Bilbo was glad he was sitting down or else he would need to. He hoped Thorin would hold in the wetness gathering in his eyes lest he scare the poor fauntling into his own tears. The dwarf looked at him with such an expression of thankfulness that Bilbo swallowed down the frog in his own throat. Well. Of course he wouldn’t leave the king out of his stories. Just the other rather important part of it all. Thorin did happen to be the main character either way.

“I did, with help,” Thorin said as he looked back to Folco. “From your father and my friends. Without your father I do not think such feats would have been possible. He was very brave and courageous throughout our journey.”

“He showed me Sting and a helm and a shiny shirt but he’s not in his stories as much as you. Fili and Kili said that’s because he’s silly and they think he should be in them more. I’ve never seen him practice at battle, he mostly gardens and cooks a lot, which is okay too. But I like you, you’re brave and a _king!_ How come you’re so far from home? Can kings and princes leave Erebor whenever they want?”

Bilbo wasn’t sure which part he was more disgruntled by and wrinkled his nose, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring out of the kitchen. Honestly, what had those lads been filling his son’s head with?

Thorin chuckled. “No, not whenever we want, only for important occasions or when it is necessary. We came to visit your father as it has been many years since we’ve seen him,” he informed Folco. “And I am glad we did.”

Folco nodded his head sagely as if he knew that would be the answer all along. “Mhmm. Me too. I’ve never met dwarves before and now I’ve met four! I’m half dwarf, too, even if I look mostly like a hobbit. It’s odd that you don’t have hairy feet but I guess it’s odd that we can’t grow beards like you, too. Oh! Come look at what Fili and Kili made me!” he rambled, reaching out and grabbing Thorin’s hand, giving it a mighty tug, which of course did nothing to help him. The dwarf stood and let the boy lead him into the sitting room. Bilbo followed and padded along quietly behind them, pursing his lips tight to get a handle on his emotions because this _hurt_.

It hurt quite a lot, in both a wonderful and awful way. Seeing them side by side, he was able to glimpse their similarities, sharp and real in front of him, not just in his imagination. Folco’s blue eyes, the very same shade as Thorin’s, their noses both pointy in that Durin sort of way. When he stood next to him, Bilbo could certainly see the dwarf in him, proud as could be. Oh and it hurt. His heartstrings were being pulled on and he wasn’t quite sure he liked which way they were going.

Their son gladly pulled Thorin into the room and straight to his fauntling-sized Mirkwood barrel, pointing out every small detail the brothers had thought to put in place. He clambered into it with the help of the dwarf’s strong hand, holding tight onto the sides and swaying as if he were in water, happily telling Thorin all about their escapade as if he had not been the one in the lead on it.

The king seemed more than a little eager to listen, asking questions and expressing shock and despair in just the right places. Even when Folco told him about himself, which was rather amusing to observe Bilbo could admit, as he took his place in his armchair. He watched them with a fond smile, having to bite down on his tongue now and then when Folco wasn’t looking at Thorin and the dwarf scanned every inch of him, soaking every bit of him in. Yes, well. Now that the blasted king had put it into his mind, he wasn’t altogether sure how he could see them part, let alone the thought of Thorin parting from _him_.

Before Bilbo knew it, the dwarf was on his rear and leaning back against the barrel, lap full of fauntling. Folco was pawing at him, plucking at his clothes with interest, listening as Thorin described his mail to him (because of course he was still wearing it), handling the bead in his remaining braid without even asking if he could. Most impolite but well, his father didn’t seem to mind, so Bilbo couldn’t complain.

“I wish I could see Erebor. Papa says it’s _many_ walking holidays away and wouldn’t be safe to travel to. I wish it was,” Folco lamented sadly. “I don’t want to fight orcs or a _real_ warg but I still want to see the Mountain!”

Thorin looked more than a little pained but he still smiled. “Your father is right, it wouldn’t be safe. I brought many dwarven soldiers with me. We did not fight any orcs this time, they are hiding in their mountains after the Battle but they are unpredictable. We would not want you on the Road if they decided to come out of hiding,” he said, bracing his hand on Folco’s back as he squirmed.

He wrinkled his nose up at the dwarf. “That wouldn’t be good,” he agreed, shaking his head in displeasure. “Maybe we can get dwarven soldiers and go? Papa says he misses the mountains! He said the Blue Mountains are a lot closer and maybe we can visit them someday when I’m older. We could get dwarven soldiers there and then go to Erebor!”

Bilbo scoffed. “Exactly how long are you planning on being away from home, you rascal? The rest of our lives? And one does not simply ‘get’ dwarven soldiers, one foolishly signs contracts and joins them on a perilous journey! Or one happens to be king with plenty of soldiers to command,” he said, waggling his finger toward his son. “Perhaps we will see mountains someday but let’s wait until you’re much older before we plan it, hmm?”

Folco eyed him, torn between sense and imagination, which often warred these days. “Maybe,” he allowed and Bilbo rolled his eyes as Thorin snorted. The fauntling leaned up and closer to his ear in a terribly conspiratorial type of way. “He worries a lot when we plan walking holidays. He can’t ever decide what to bring and we always end up bringing the same things anyways.”

His son was a traitor, no doubt about that. He squinted his eyes at them both as Thorin laughed, nodding knowingly. “Your father is often stuck in small details, is he not?” he teased and Folco nodded his agreement.

“Yep! Auntie Prim says he’s a sucker for them,” he announced and Bilbo scoffed, sitting up and waving his hands.

“I think that’s quite enough! Goodness, you know not to gossip in front of others but certainly you know you shouldn’t gossip about me _in_ _front_ of me, my dear boy,” he chastised, furrowing his brow and giving his son the stink-eye.

Folco looked between them, his mouth twisted thoughtfully before he looked back to Thorin. “Do you want to go see my room with me?” he asked so innocently Bilbo dropped his jaw. The nerve of him!

The blasted dwarf king had the gall to drop his head back and _laugh_ , laugh his big deep booming laugh. When he finally looked back at the hobbit, grinning, he shrugged a shoulder at the look he was receiving. “He is your son,” he informed him with a quirk of his brow. “I know not why you’re surprised.”

Bilbo waved his arms in the air as he thought of how to respond. “You, my boy, are spending entirely too much time with those lads that like to pretend they’re not dwarflings! I refuse to think that came from me,” he said, waggling his finger once more at them. “You are fooling no one, Folco, and I should ask you to not gossip about me at any time! Or anyone else for that matter!”

His son giggled because he very much knew he was being a sneak and clambered off of Thorin’s lap. “Okay, I won’t, Papa,” he said, throwing himself at Bilbo and clamping his arms tightly around him. “No gossiping!”

“I should think not, you little manipulator,” Bilbo said into his son’s hair as he hugged him tightly back, shooting a glare at the king as he continued to grin at him. “Though it may not be a bad idea to show Thorin your room. Perhaps some of your drawings, hmm? I believe we are quite late for afternoon tea and I should very much like to make a large supper. What do you say?”

Folco promptly hopped back and cheered, jumping into the air with a dangerous waving fist. “Yes! I’m hungry! I’ll show King Thorin my room and you can call us when supper is ready,” he said, with all the ridiculousness of a five year old. He turned and went back to _King_ _Thorin_ , grabbing his hand and attempting to lug him up again. The dwarf pretended he did, to his credit, and shot Bilbo such a _look_ he resembled Kili.

The hobbit may have sent him a rude hand gesture when Folco wasn’t looking but Thorin simply chuckled and allowed himself to be tugged down the hall, following a chattering fauntling.

Bilbo needed a moment to cope with the idea that his son was far too sharp for his age (he often did) and also at the very idea that he was hand-in-hand with the father he didn’t yet know about. He wasn’t sure which one would kill him first.

 ——

Bilbo was entirely sure his son would kill him first. Sitting around a table with three dwarves who were all acting like dwarflings was encouraging behavior he was very much not alright with! He endured the tossing of food, impromptu Khuzdul lessons that Thorin only seemed to encourage, the goat, and the worst sort of manners Folco had ever presented. The hobbit was positive he would have to tell the three of them explain this was only… _celebratory_ or something like it to stave off a new trend of misbehaving fauntlings given Folco’s tendency to befriend _all_ of them.

Goodness gracious and he wasn’t even really all that upset by it! That was the thing that irked him the most. He wanted to be a fussy hobbit again some days but he also never wanted to leave Erebor and wanted to live out the rest of his days with _dwarves_ , where this kind of behavior was expected at the dinner table. It was still an ache he hadn’t been able to rid himself of and he was entirely unsure how he was going to be expected to do so once his dwarves were gone.

He was firmly ignoring that same niggling little thought in the back of his mind that got him into the whole mess to begin with.

The boys even took away his pleasure in ordering them to clean the table and wash the dishes by simply doing it themselves. Folco stood on his stool at the sink with them, helping and hindering both, reduced to a giggling, soaking wet fauntling.

“Look at what you’ve done to my boy,” Bilbo lamented, wrinkling his nose at Thorin, who didn’t look the least bit upset about it. “A polite, well-behaved fauntling one day and a _dwarf_ the next. I shudder to think what will happen when your nephews spend a day with a herd of fauntlings - which will likely happen tomorrow, Market Day and all. Their parents will take one look at them and happily dump all their children on them! We hobbits have a rotating schedule for the smaller ones so we can shop in peace but that’ll be ruined while you are here, believe you me.”

Thorin smiled, eyes twinkling with mirth. “They will greatly enjoy taking that responsibility on,” he said, nodding. “And then you will indeed have a herd of dwarflings in the Shire.”

“And guess who will be blamed for that,” Bilbo said flatly, rolling his eyes. “Just when I think my reputation can’t get any worse you lot keep finding ways to prove me wrong.” He waved his finger at Thorin before he stood, clapping his hands together to get the attention of the boys. “Alright! It is a certain fauntling’s bath time. I know you are trying your best to do it early but I think we should stick to actual baths.”

Folco whined, dropping his head back dramatically as he did so, even as he clambered off his stool. “But then I have to go to bed and I’m not tired!” he said, dragging his feet until he reached Bilbo’s side, taking his hand without issue.

“Yes, not tired my furry feet,” Bilbo muttered, raising his eyebrows down at his son. “You can spend more time with your houseguests once you are done. And _then_ you will go to bed. Is that a fair enough trade for you?”

“I suppose,” was his long-suffering moan of an answer. Fili and Kili snickered as Bilbo rolled his eyes again, tugging his son along toward the hall. He knew if he didn’t get this done sooner rather than later it would never get done and then he’d have a mess on his hands he didn’t want to deal with, thank you. It had been a rather long few days.

So Bilbo quite eagerly rushed his son to the bath and ran it for him, thanking Eru and Yavanna that his boy seemed to want to get through it just as quickly. Sometimes when they finally left the bathroom _Bilbo_ was so exhausted he had to drag himself to his own bed and hope he wouldn’t be woken before dawn. Curse whatever evil allowed fauntlings to catch a second wind in the bath.

They washed a surprising (and yet not) amount of grime off and Bilbo listened as his son told him all about his time spent with Fili and Kili that day, as if he weren’t around for the majority of it, and then he finally wrapped him up tight in a towel to dry. The hobbit casually prodded at Folco to hear his opinions on Thorin and was not at all shocked to hear worship in his voice as he spoke about the _King of Erebor_ in _his_ smial and how he should _very_ much like to tell his friends. Well. If that’s what he wanted to do, who was Bilbo to stop the lad?

He handed his son his pajamas and watched him dress with amusement - Folco always straightened his clothing out to the best of his abilities, despite what clothing it was and what time of day it was. Once he had deemed himself presentable once more, they walked hand-in-hand to Bilbo’s sitting room and he promptly lost him to Fili and Kili. They eagerly scooped him up and went about telling him stories as they had the previous two nights as well, filling his head with adventures and dreams of a Mountain in the East.

Thorin was sitting in the armchair across from Bilbo’s and he joined him, flapping his lips with a great sigh as he collapsed into the chair. “That was terribly easy and I feel as if that is a warning of what horrors will surely come tomorrow,” he informed the dwarf with a grave shake of his head. “You should come along to the Market with us. I could use a few pairs of dwarven hands to do my heavy lifting for me.”

The dwarf chuckled and inclined his head in assent. “I would be glad to,” he said, turning to watch his son with his nephews. “I should like to see a hobbit market. The markets in Erebor are chaotic at best.”

“You have to be cutthroat if you want to get the best of what they have,” Kili agreed from where he sat, poking Folco in the stomach as he sat on Fili’s lap. “Honestly glad I’m royalty on those days so I don’t have to worry about it. Don’t think I’d do well fighting over anything or bartering over it either.”

“You’d dry out Erebor before we knew it,” Fili agreed, nodding at his brother. “You have absolutely no skill in bartering. Pathetic, really. You’re lucky Mum isn’t here for that royalty comment either or you’d be in the markets for the next year.” He pointed at Kili with a smirk as the brunet rolled his eyes.

“How big are the markets in Erebor?” Folco inquired curiously, tracing his fingers over the runes sewn into the dwarf’s tunic. “Ours can be real big near holidays.”

Kili grinned. “Oh, wee one, if only you knew the grandness of Erebor. The markets are _massive!_ ” he said, gesturing in the air above his head. “Big as Hobbiton! And they have everything you could ever want: food, weaponry, jewelry, toys, gems, clothing for any occasion! Plenty of services offered, too. When you first step into the Hall, all you can see is color everywhere, moving and blending together. It is as bright as a hobbit garden. You would love it, Folco, you really would. Tons of fun as long as you make sure not to get swallowed up by hundreds and hundreds of dwarves.”

“Aye, don’t be like Kee,” Fili said with a grin. “He got lost many times when we were dwarflings. We always found him standing in the middle of the crowd, given the fact that no one walked within five feet of him, bawling his eyes out for the world to hear. I suppose if you want to be found that’s the way to do it.”

His brother sent him an unimpressed look as Bilbo and Thorin snorted. “From what I remember, _you_ were supposed to be the one watching out for me but you were unfortunately attracted to anything shiny and dropped me like a piece of coal,” he said, sounding a bit upset by it still, if the hobbit was reading him correctly. “I was never on the end of Thorin’s lectures after market days for a reason.”

Folco swiveled his head between the three dwarfs in mention, grinning. “Did King Thorin yell at you a lot? You’re always supposed to watch out for those that are younger than you!” he chirped, sounding very much like Bilbo. “ _Lots_ of trouble will follow if you leave one behind. I’ve been lectured too.”

The hobbit sighed as he watched his son nodding gravely between the brothers. Dramatics of dwarves.

“Oh? You know, I have this strange feeling Bilbo’s lectures are far less severe than King Thorin’s,” Fili said, shooting another smirk at his brother. “Our dear uncle would start yelling in Khuzdul instead of Westron without even _realizing_ it! It was terrifying, really, trying to keep up. We’re very glad he only does it a few times a week now rather than a few times a day.”

Folco giggled as Thorin grunted in disapproval at his nephews. “My cousin Everard gets yelled at all the time by his papa,” he said. “I’m glad Papa doesn’t yell at me, he just turns really red-" Bilbo let out an indignant squawk at that “-and waves his arms around. How come your Uncle King Thorin yells at you? Is that because you’re princes? How come your momma doesn’t or your papa?”

Bilbo was ready to chastise his son for nosing about but the brothers both laughed. “Well!” Kili said. “Our mother is far more scary than Uncle could ever hope to be but she doesn’t yell. She talks _real_ quiet and then you know you’re in _real_ trouble, yeah?” He grinned, squinting at Folco as he leaned close, pinching his knee and was rewarded with more giggles. “Our papa is with Mahal, our Maker, buried in stone now. He died when we were both young. He was a very brave dwarf.”

Folco frowned at them, looking up at Fili for affirmation before he looked back to Kili. “That’s very sad,” he said solemnly. “I wish you had your papa. Dwarves make stone? Hobbits make flowers when we die.”

“Doesn’t surprise me for a minute,” Fili said with a rather fond smile. “We dwarves are made of stone so we join back up with it when it’s our time, making it strong again so it can create little stone dwarflings in turn.”

“Hmm,” Folco mused, narrowing his eyes in thought. “I wonder what happens to a half hobbit and half dwarf! I wouldn’t mind making more stone dwarflings but I like flowers a whole lot too.”

Bilbo buried his face in his hands, muttering into his palms before he looked at the brothers, eyes pleading with them to not continue speaking about death with his son right before bed, thank you very much! When he inevitably decided he wanted to know more about life and death (and his own mortality), he wouldn’t ask them, no indeed!

Kili grinned sheepishly back at him, shrugging his shoulders. “Well, you know what? You have _thousands_ of years before you’ll find out so we’ll worry about it then and not a day before,” he told Folco, nodding his head at him with a wink.

His son giggled, rolling around in Fili’s lap. “I’m not gonna be thousands of years old! Only elves are like that!” he cried before he clambered off of the blond. He turned around and hugged Fili, patting his back in sudden consolation. “I’m sorry you don’t have your papa. If you want, I could tell you stories before bed like Papa does for me. It helps me fall asleep when I don’t feel so good.” He turned around and gave Kili a similar hug, his little hand tapping against a broad back. “I don’t have one of my papas either.”

Bilbo’s stomach hit the floor as the air in the room immediately went to stifling, the elder occupants all stilling, looking at the little fauntling who was trying to console his cousins without knowing they were his cousins, sounding very resigned at the fact that he didn’t ‘have one of his papas either.’ Which was really terribly heartbreaking and the hobbit wondered if he had ever felt more like horse dung in his life.

Fili and Kili looked more like fish than dwarf, though Folco didn’t seem to notice any changes between them, simply looking between the brothers as if he were the Thain himself, offering kind words after a loss and letting them process it. _  
_

“Umm,” Kili managed. “Well. No? You don’t? Oh, I- well. It’s a bit late, don’t you think, Fee?” He looked at his brother more than a bit desperately and Bilbo sighed, taking pity on them.

“Folco, come here a mo’,” he called, holding his arms out and motioning his son forward. “Let Fili and Kili go get themselves ready for bed and then you can say goodnight, alright?” The fauntling obediently came to him and the dwarves wasted no time at all in getting to their feet and fleeing the room. _Like cowards._

Well.

He wasn’t exactly prepared for Smaug even though he knew he was coming, surely he could do this? Bilbo finally looked at Thorin, poor Thorin, who was still frozen in his chair, the hand on the armrest gripped tight to it, knuckles white, eyes sweeping between father and son, not remotely certain of what he should be doing. The hobbit had a feeling he wasn’t entirely prepared for it either. At least they could suffer together once more in their lives.

Folco climbed onto his lap and wrapped his arms tight around Bilbo’s neck, looking between him and Thorin curiously. “Huh?” he asked, quite aware now of the strange gazes he was on the receiving end of. The dwarf started, sitting up more in his chair and looking at his hobbit, shaking his head an imperceptible amount - which was really not very helpful at all even though Bilbo knew it was his place to talk to the lad. But still, not very helpful.

“Er,” he managed before he coughed into his fist, turning his head away from the boy’s. “Er, Folco, actually. I wanted to tell you something. We did, Thorin and I. _Thorin_ and I.” He shot a quick glare at the dwarf until he seemed to realize what he wanted and stood from his chair, immediately sinking to the ground in front of them. Bilbo stood with a fauntling wrapped around him and sat in front of him, letting out a gusty sigh.

“Now, my boy, you are well aware you have dwarf blood in you. And you are well aware you have hobbit blood in you. And that I brought you into this world,” he began, raising his eyebrows in question at Folco, who gave one great big nod to each point. “Yes, well. Ah, hmm. Your other papa is a dwarf, yes, but I’ve told you he hasn’t gone to Mahal yet, you know that. Do you remember what you asked me that one time when I told you about the eagles? Just a few months ago? What you asked me about the king?”

Folco squinted his eyes in confusion for a brief moment before he nodded. “I asked if you liked him ‘cause you looked like cousin Drogo does when he looks at Auntie Prim and you told me you liked him very much,” he recited, swinging his gaze between both of them. “And I asked why you didn’t marry him and you said he, umm, was a really big-"

“Yes yes, thank you, quite enough,” Bilbo hastily said, face hot. Thorin was sending him a look bordering on amusement and utter disbelief. He coughed again. “Right. Shouldn’t have said that. Anyway, er, Folco, I did like Thorin very much. Do. Did. Oh bother it all.”

He twisted his son around in his lap to look at him more head on. “Folco. Thorin and I love each other very, _very_ much, you know, like your grandparents loved each other. You know those stories, too. Enough so that we went ahead and made a fauntling out of that love. We made you together, my boy. Thorin is your papa.”

As Bilbo hoped he hadn’t just traumatized his son for life, Folco’s eyes widened and he whirled around to look at Thorin. The dwarf looked just how Bilbo felt and the hobbit grasped at that small comfort.

“You are?” the fauntling asked with a gasp, staring up at Thorin with what his father could only describe as hope really, which wasn’t what he was expecting.

“Yes,” Thorin said ever so quietly. “Yes, Folco, _inùdoy._ I am. And I have missed you and your father dearly.”

Folco stared at him with his mouth hanging wide open for a good long while before he snapped it shut. He crossed his arms firmly over his chest, twisted his mouth to the side and closed one eye, inspecting the king critically and very much not looking like Bilbo, thank you. “Are you _sure_ you’re my papa?” he asked and the hobbit was just thankful he wasn’t waving his finger about.

Thorin let out a laugh, partly strained in his attempts to hold his emotions in. “I am very sure,” he said, inclining his head and smiling so sweetly it had Bilbo’s heart pitter-pattering. The dwarf looked frightened out of his mind but was holding it together rather well - he also looked as if he were receiving the biggest gift he’d gotten in his life and, well… the hobbit supposed he was. “You are my son, Folco, a part of me.”

The fauntling continued to stare in bemusement at the king and Bilbo was terribly curious what could possibly be running through a five year old’s head when trying to process this sort of thing. He blinked, starting as Folco clambered out of his lap and promptly ran off down the hall and straight to his bedroom, from the sound of it.

“Oh dear,” Bilbo muttered, frowning after him. “I didn’t- well, I don’t- maybe he just needs some time…?” He looked at Thorin and felt another increasingly familiar and yet tiresome punch to his belly at the look on the dwarf’s face. Crestfallen and yet resigned, knowing it might take a while. Before Bilbo could even begin to think of how to possibly comfort him, they both turned as a scamper of fauntling feet sounded in the hall.

Folco bustled into the sitting room with a folded, worn letter in his hands that Bilbo did not at all recognize. He frowned in confusion as his son ran straight to Thorin, climbed into his lap without so much as a by-your-leave, and looked up at him with wide eyes, panting from his little excursion. “I wrote this to my papa! I mean, you. I didn’t know it was you when I wrote it or I would’ve given it to you,” he said, shaking his head quickly, honey blond hair falling in his eyes. “I wrote this a _long_ time ago just in case I ever met you.”

Bilbo clutched at his chest, staring at his son in wonder. “Y-You did?” he managed to squeak out before he cleared his throat. “I didn’t know that.”

“It’s _private_ ,” Folco said firmly, squinting at him and clutching the letter to his chest. “It’s meant for Papa. Do you want to read it? Can you read it out loud?” He turned back to Thorin and handed it to him.

Thorin took it with a slight tremble in his hand, his other arm gently moving around the fauntling’s waist, as if he were not sure if his touch would be accepted or not. Apparently it was, as Folco simply settled into his chest, looking up at him expectantly. The dwarf stared down at the letter and then at his son, a soft, yearning sort of smile on his face. He finally let out a laugh and nodded, leaning down to nose into his curls in a way that made Bilbo bite down on his tongue so he wouldn’t start crying fat tears and ruin the whole thing. He was quite familiar with how that felt and knew how it could bring a sense of safety and comfort about.

“Of course, _inùdoy._ I would be honored to,” Thorin said as he grinned down at the boy, then lowered the letter a tad so he could unfold it. He was promptly stopped by two small hands and Bilbo blinked as a fierce, familiar blue gaze was sent his way.

He stared dumbly at his son before he started, scrambling to his feet. “O-Oh, right. _Right!_ Of course, what am I thinking? A very private letter,” he managed. “I shall be in the, er, kitchen then. For when you are done. Yes.” He turned and hightailed it out of there, both to give them some privacy and take full advantage of the opportunity to actually cry those big fat tears.

“No spying, Papa!” he heard a ridiculous fauntling shout after him and he couldn’t hold in his indignant scoff.

“I do not _spy_ , thank you!” he hollered back as he trotted down the hall and into his kitchen. Oh dear. Oh my. _Oh goodness gracious._

Yes, the boy would be the death of him.

Bilbo attempted to make tea but when his hands proved too useless for the delicacy that were his kettle and cups, he opted for a large mug and poured himself an ale. When he sat heavily down at his kitchen table, he dropped his head onto folded arms and promptly let his tears flow to his heart's content, rather needing it at this point. Proud, terribly heartbroken, full of love, elated, all kinds of tears escaped - he had been holding them in for far too long. He kept it as quiet as he could, in part because he didn’t want to interrupt and worry his child and also because he couldn’t very well attempt to listen in on them if he was sobbing too loudly, could he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo Z snapping all the way home. He just needed to sleep on it, he wasn't about to let Thorin continue being an idiot! Anyway, hope you all like this chapter, it's a bit of a build up to the next one with discussions about the ~future~ and maybe some decisions about it too. Bilbo and Thorin will continue to have no idea what they're doing.
> 
> I'm glad you all felt as passionately about the abdication thing as I felt Bilbo would! I think Thorin made a couple valid points but _still._
> 
> Folco attempted to say "You will taste my knuckle soon," because I love that phrase.


	6. Chapter 6

A tap on the hobbit’s shoulder woke him.

Bilbo blinked his eyes open and lifted his head, looking blearily around before he started as his eyes met blue. Thorin was standing over him, a sleeping fauntling held in one of his arms and wearing a bit of a smirk that Bilbo was much too tired to think about.

“Er,” he managed, brushing off his mouth and sitting back in his chair, wincing at the kink in his neck. He’d fallen asleep at his kitchen table. “Goodness, how long were you two out there?”

“Long enough for him to explain everything he meant in his letter and for me to answer endless questions of Erebor,” Thorin replied quietly and with a smile this time. “He fell asleep mid-sentence.”

Bilbo snorted, nodding as he stood, stretching his arms above his head and yawning. He hadn’t been able to hear any of their conversation given Thorin’s timbre and the rapid-fire way in which Folco had started out with him. He’d needle it out of the dwarf later on.

“Does that,” the hobbit muttered. “Come on, let’s put the rascal to sleep. Did your nephews come out of hiding?” He motioned with his hand and led Thorin out of his kitchen, into the hall, and started down it toward their son’s room.

“They remain unseen,” the king said, amusement coloring his voice. “I imagine they fell off before this one did.”

Bilbo glanced back at him and felt his heart begin to pitter-patter without his permission, smiling at the sight of Thorin holding Folco in his arms. It was not something he had ever imagined would happen and now that it _was_ happening, well, he still hadn’t a clue what he was imagining. Many different things, if he thought about it - how life would be peaceful and simple still had Thranduil not opened his big mouth, how it might have gone if Thorin wasn’t willing to rethink his decision about the throne, how it _would_ be going if Folco was not so accepting of him. And how that put thoughts into his head he would really, truly rather not entertain.

After leading his dwarf into their son’s bedroom, he watched as Thorin deposited the boy on his bed and covered him with his blankets with practiced ease. It may have been some years since he had done such a thing but instincts still remained. And it broke Bilbo’s heart.

“He is a gift, Bilbo,” Thorin whispered as he approached him. “I know not how to describe him.”

“I do: a menace,” Bilbo huffed in return, unable to stop the grin spreading across his face. “He is a wonderful boy. Perfect in every way, really, and he amazes me by the hour.”

“Papa?” a tiny little voice said as a wiggling fauntling peered over his blankets tiredly at them. “Papa, can you tell me a story?”

Bilbo sighed. It was much too late and telling a story would not last even sixty seconds, he was willing to bet, but he could not deny his son anything. He looked at Thorin, who looked back to him, both raising their eyebrows at each other in expectation.

“Oh for- Thorin, _you’re_ Papa, too. He is asking for you, you oaf,” the hobbit hissed at him, grabbing his arm and pushing him back toward the bed. It was as useless as when Folco tried to lug him about and did nothing for him, really.

The dwarf looked startled at the realization that he was indeed Papa and hesitated for only a brief moment before he moved to the chair by his son’s bedside. “Of course, _inùdoy._ What do you wish to hear of?” he asked and received a noncommittal (and unhelpful) noise in response.

Bilbo shook his head. “You’ve made a traitor of him and I will never forgive you,” he whispered toward the dwarf before he slipped out of the room lest he disturb them. Thorin could certainly show himself out or perhaps have enough sense to take a guest room on his own. The dwarf did tend to lose himself rather easily however.

The hobbit shrugged, wandering down into his bedroom, changed into his night clothes, collapsed into bed and promptly fell asleep.

——

Bilbo started awake in the early morning hours, sitting straight up in bed and sweeping his gaze along his room. He could feel his hair attempting to go every which way and smoothed it down as he tried to figure out what had awoken him. Not a fauntling staring into his face two inches from it and half startling him out of his mind as it did some mornings. If anything, Bag End was entirely quiet and-

Oh. Thorin. He had been there late into the night and the last he saw of him was in Folco’s room, of course. The hobbit clambered out of bed and ventured into the hall, looking up and down it for any signs of a dwarf having taken up an available spare room. When he decided he couldn’t exactly say, he wandered down to his son’s room and slowly pushed the door open, peeking inside.

He blinked.

The bed was empty. Not only was it empty, no blankets or pillows remained on it, which of course made him irrationally assume something terrible had happened and he hurried his way inside. Besides the unusual sight that was an empty fauntling bed, a pair of bare dwarf feet on the ground beside it was perhaps even more unusual. Bilbo blinked twice before he slowly crept along to the other side of his son’s bed, having to hold in a squeak at what he saw.

They were lying in a pile on the ground, Thorin and Folco both. The thickest blanket was spread out below them and the others were mostly covering his son, who obviously had stolen them throughout some point in the night. Bilbo hadn’t the faintest idea why they were on the ground but it was a rather precious sight.

Folco was all limbs, spread out with his mouth hanging wide open, looking entirely at peace with the world. Thorin was on his side with an arm wrapped around his son’s belly, hair spread out over the cream colored pillow beneath his head, an achingly familiar sight to the hobbit. He forced himself out of those thoughts and took in the dressed down state of the dwarf, finally only in trousers and a tunic, his mail and leathers draped over an armchair in the corner of the room. Bilbo felt his nose twitch as he looked at the clothing, then swung his gaze back to the ridiculous two on the ground, rocking back on his heels and crossing his arms over his chest.

Well. Those thoughts were coming to him anyway. Silly things he had found himself imagining throughout the years - a whole family in Erebor, mornings much the same as this, though preferably himself involved somehow. Waking next to his son and looking at the very picture in front of him at that moment. Thorin, curled next to his son, Thorin waking and giving them both a kiss before they ate a lovely breakfast and then left their rooms as who they were in the Mountain - King, Consort, and Prince.

He always hated himself when he drifted into that place, picturing that kind of thing, knowing it could never happen. And even if part of it did happen, it did come true and he was looking at it right then, he knew it wasn’t going to become the full picture.

Bilbo started as the king shifted, turning his head and opening one eye to look up at him, face lax with sleep otherwise. He smiled after a moment, then pulled quietly away from the boy, sitting up with a great yawn.

“It was his idea,” Thorin defended when he looked back to Bilbo and saw raised eyebrows. “He asked me to stay but deemed his bed much too small for us both.”

The hobbit snorted, shaking his head in exasperation as he watched Thorin push himself to his feet, wrapping Folco up in his arms and ignoring the whine of protest he received for his efforts. He put the lad back in bed and covered him with his blankets, the fauntling happily curling up and going straight back to his dreams - it was an hour or two before he normally woke.

Bilbo was envious - he would very much like to get a full night of sleep. The day he met Thorin Oakenshield guaranteed it would be nearly impossible for him to, even on his most peaceful and joy-filled days.

The dwarf scooped up what he had rid himself of the night before and they left Folco’s room, venturing into Bilbo’s sitting room.

“What time does your market begin?” Thorin asked as he began to dress himself back into the mail and leathers he insisted on. “I should return to the inn to prepare for our day.”

The hobbit nodded in agreement. “Yes and when you do, do not join us at the Market in armor of any sort, please and thank you. It would do us all some good, I think,” he said with a huff, crossing his arms firmly over his chest. “I would say around second breakfast, that’s when we typically head off. We nip food from the Market for it as we shop. Will you be needing directions?”

He grinned at the look he received in return and snickered at the eye-roll.

“I will see you at the Market then,” Thorin said as he straightened himself out. He approached Bilbo and laid one of his big paws on the hobbit’s shoulder, gracing him with that charming and handsome smile of his. “Thank you for allowing this, Bilbo. I have not felt a wholeness in my heart for a very long time and none that has ever been like this.”

Bilbo was certain it was too early for such words. “Yes, well. I am glad to hear that. Nothing quite like having one of your own, is there? The greatest gift in all my life, certainly,” he managed, rocking on his heels and clearing his throat.

Words for each other were hanging heavily in the room, not acknowledged but on the forefront of their minds, neither certain if they should ever be spoken aloud. It seemed more than a little dangerous to entertain the thought, the hobbit felt. It couldn’t go back to the way it was before. Those were a very few short weeks in their lives, when they had finally embraced what they felt for each other, and far too much had happened afterward to grasp onto what they had then. Bilbo had experienced more pain than love from the dwarf in front of him and he was sure he could not forgive that.

Looking at sincere blue eyes, clearly full of love for their son and him, was making it difficult to actually believe that. But he could not go there - would not.

“You have raised a remarkable child,” Thorin said, still with that soft smile on his lips. “As remarkable as yourself.”

“Ah, I would say he’s quite a bit more remarkable than I could ever claim to be,” Bilbo said with a twitch of his nose. “He’ll continue to surprise you, believe you me. You’ll see that popularity I mentioned when we’re at the Market today.”

“I am looking forward to it,” the dwarf said with a grin. He finally pulled away from the hobbit, which was a very good thing as he was terrified of what he may do if Thorin kept looking at him like that.

Bilbo led him to the front door and saw him out with a few parting words before he gladly fled into getting himself ready for the day, including a rather large breakfast for the brood of children he currently had in his home - he needed the distraction.

Not that it worked, of course, because Bilbo Baggins was an unlucky hobbit indeed.

——

By the time breakfast was finished and the brothers, as well as Folco, were in each of their rooms and dressing for the day, Bilbo found himself sitting in his armchair once again. He had rested his elbow on the arm of it, chin in his hand, and was staring at a cold fireplace. The images from earlier in the morning kept presenting themselves without his permission and it was putting him into a bit of a melancholic mood.

Thorin was in the Shire. Thorin had apologized to him. Thorin had met his son, his son had learned the king was his father. Thorin expressed not knowing how he might part from the boy when it was time to.

And he had no idea what to do about any of it. He could sit and recount every biting remark, every cruel word, every horrid action the dwarf had put him through. But he could also remember lying in a bed in Lake-town, laughing and planning the most grand and increasingly ridiculous future with the dwarf. Despite what he knew then, given that mocking hindsight, that Thorin had likely already been falling to gold sickness in the Mountain, he could very much remember being in the king’s old rooms, taking comfort in each other after the horrors they had seen.

Bilbo knew which memories he’d like to hold onto, he did, and he knew that they were likely more heavenly in his mind than they had actually been when they were occurring but he had spent enough time in the bad from the past that he was tired of going there. He was tired of the cutting pangs in his heart after nearly six years and a very large part of him wished the elf king had simply kept his mouth shut so he was not wallowing in them once again.

He was trying to hold it together. He really was. But how could he be expected to after a day spent in the Market with the one who held his heart and their son, as if everything was the way it should be? Should have been.

“Papa! We’re ready!” his son’s familiar voice called as he scampered down the hall, dressed in a blue waistcoat and typical trousers, hair all a mess. Fili and Kili followed along behind him, wearing identical grins, still dressed down and looking all the more handsome for it.

“Well, it is about time! I have been waiting for an age and a half for you,” Bilbo declared as he stood, his hand promptly being claimed by a giggling fauntling. “Did you bring enough for payment for all of our goods?”

Folco wrinkled his nose, digging into his pocket and pulling out a few small coins. “I only have enough for Missus Gamgee’s cream puffs,” he said sadly before he looked back up at his father. “Can I borrow some?”

Bilbo chuckled, shaking his head at his son as they wandered to the smial door, a few wicker baskets waiting for them. The brothers took them (met with no protests) and they stepped into the bright, sunny morning. “I suppose you will just have to. But I fully expect you to pay me back, my boy!”

“With chores?” Folco asked in disapproval, looking up at Bilbo with terribly obvious doe-eyes. The hobbit twisted around to look at the dwarves and raised his eyebrow meaningfully. Did they see what he had to put up with?

“With chores and no complaints about them,” Bilbo said, looking down at his son. “I think that’s a fair trade.”

“You complain about _your_ chores,” his fauntling told him matter-of-factly and was met with snickers from behind them.

“Do you know what, you smart aleck? You can run ahead and get out of my hair! Go and buy your cream puffs!” he huffed at his son and was met with a blinding grin. Folco let go of his hand and tore off down Bagshot Row, running as fast as his feet could carry him - which was rather terribly fast and Bilbo mourned for the shape he had let himself slide out of after their journey.

Kili moved alongside him, throwing his arm over his shoulders and pulling Bilbo into an unfortunately rock solid body. “Our wee cousin is a wee you,” he said dreamily. “And the best, truly! I think I may just stay behind in the Shire, forget all that princely business.”

Fili moved alongside his opposite side, sliding his arm around his waist. Well. His reputation could suffer even further and he might as well take great joy in it. “Aye, I agree! Let us stay behind, Kee. Uncle can name Mum his heir and then she’ll find a suitable heir for herself, far better than we could ever hope to be,” he agreed, nodding seriously at his brother. “I think that is a brilliant idea.”

“It is! Spend the rest of our days with hobbits, eating and drinking and singing and dancing to our heart's content. It sounds wonderful,” Kili sighed, smiling blissfully as he gazed around.

“Eru,” Bilbo muttered to himself. “You two would turn the Shire into a barren wasteland before we knew it. Nope, I think your place is in Erebor, where you cannot do very much damage to that rock. Leave us hobbits out of it. We already have half a dwarf roaming about the place.”

“Aww but he is treasured here, said as much himself!” Kili said and grinned at the look he received. “I have a feeling we dwarves would become just as popular. Fee thinks hobbit lasses rather lovely, too, should’ve heard him going on about _flowing_ red curls-"

“Shut it,” Fili interrupted with an indignant scoff, raising his hand to cuff his brother on the back of his head before he resumed his snug fit around the hobbit. “Though he has the right of it. Most loved we would be. We can offer lessons in sword fighting and archery, teach all you hobbits how to defend yourselves against whatever trouble may come. We’re good with our hands, as well! Fixed your plumbing, remember?”

“You will give me nightmares so I kindly ask you to shut your mouths. The last thing I want to dream about is you two romping about the Shire!” Bilbo said, waggling his finger in the air. “You will remain the princes you are supposed to be and you will do it proudly. Oh, _look_ at that boy, didn’t get very far, did he?”

The hobbit watched his son stopped short of the Market, whispering conspiratorially with his cousin Everard, exchanging something between themselves that had Bilbo’s warning bells ringing. That boy was full Took and therefore could not be trusted. Just as Bilbo was about to holler to his son to get moving he saw the fauntling’s attention get snared by something over Everard’s shoulder and an elated expression take over his face.

“Papa!” he squealed, rooting Bilbo to his spot, forcing the brothers to stop with him. Yes, there was Thorin, trudging around the Market (the coward hadn’t gone through it) and looking as dressed down as his nephews - which rather hurt, considering how very radiant and at home he looked. The hobbit’s heart leapt into his throat as he watched Folco barrel toward his father, launching himself at him and was easily caught, twirled in the air. The dwarven king possibly looked happier than Bilbo had ever seen him, a grin plastered on his face as he pulled the fauntling to his chest. After a few quick words were exchanged, Thorin twisted him around so he could sit on his shoulders, holding tight onto small legs, Folco’s arms wrapping around his forehead.

“Oh dear,” Bilbo whispered. “That is- that is hardly fair. Can you believe them?”

Kili gave a very long-suffering sigh, shaking his head in mock despair. “I know! He doesn’t do that for us anymore,” he said, looking down at the hobbit. Bilbo blinked before he was startled into a laugh despite himself, shooting the dwarf a disbelieving glance.

“I should think not, you two are hardly cute enough for that honor,” he said with a roll of his eyes, smiling as he turned back to look at his dwarf and son. Folco had spotted them, pointing Thorin in their direction and the king carried him to the trio. He arched an eyebrow at the hold his nephews had on the hobbit, lips thinning in disapproval, earning himself a few sets of eye-rolls.

“Good morning,” Thorin greeted as he met Bilbo’s eyes. The hobbit was resolutely not paying attention to how handsome he was. “The Market here is far more than I was expecting.”

“Well. We are hobbits. An empty pantry means an empty stomach and that simply will not do,” Bilbo said as the brothers finally let him go. “Come along then, you lot. Let’s get this started. I have a feeling we'll be here all day.”

Folco cheered at the very thought and the hobbit knew he would have to set Fili and Kili on him to wear him out for a nap. He despaired as he watched the younger of the two pounding on his brother’s arm, pointing out a stall with a large amount of baked breads and pastries, chattering happily and they were left behind without even a goodbye. Bilbo sighed.

“Attention span of dwarves,” he muttered to himself and Thorin chuckled in response. “You’re just as bad as them, thank you. Alright, my boy, are you staying with us or are you hunting down some treats?”

He was mildly amused at how torn the fauntling looked, eyes darting between his father’s head and the Market, his lips pursed tight. “Umm…” he managed, wriggling against Thorin’s shoulders. “Well, umm, I don’t want to miss them like that one time! Can you let me down, Papa? I’ll bring you a cream puff!”

“Ah, only if that is the case,” Thorin said as he plucked the boy off his shoulders, planting a kiss on the top of his head before he set him on the ground. The fauntling was off as quickly as the brothers had been, dodging expertly between hobbits, who just as skillfully adjusted goods in their arms to let him. “There are more children here than I have ever seen in one place before.”

“Hobbits, Thorin, I have told you all about us,” Bilbo sniffed, waggling his finger at the dwarf as they began to walk toward the Market themselves. “We are very good at being productive. Why, triplets were born just two months ago! A rare thing for us, I’ll admit, but it just goes to show how… er, well…” He trailed off as he watched a gang of children headed straight for them. Case in point, he supposed.

Thorin looked a tad panicked given they all had their eyes set on him and Bilbo watched with growing amusement as they came to a stop in front of him. At least nine fauntlings, six year old Doderic ever in the lead, crossing his arms over his chest and leveling Thorin with a critical eye.

“Are you _really_ a king, Mister Dwarf?” he asked, tone clearly stating he did not believe such balderdash. “Folco said you’re the king from Mister Bilbo’s stories.”

Thorin blinked down at them before he inclined his head. “I am a king. But only of a mountain far in the East. Here I am only a guest of Mister Bilbo’s. Please call me Thorin, little ones,” he said kindly. It did not appease the fauntlings.

“Are you _really_ Folco’s papa?” Doderic asked. Bilbo snorted. Priorities! And this time, Thorin grinned so proudly at them the hobbit's eyes went skyward.

“I am indeed,” the dwarf informed them. “And who are you, Master Hobbit?”

“Doderic Brandybuck,” the boy answered with an air of importance, as if the dwarf should have known that all along. “I’m Folco’s friend. And these are our friends, too! Everard is Folco’s cousin.” He pointed at the blond youth to his left, who was staring up at Thorin with awe, no attempt at hiding it. “If you’re a king, how come you aren’t wearing a crown? Don’t you have to?”

Thorin kneeled down in front of them so they didn’t have to crane their poor little necks. “I wear a crown when I am in my home but not at all times. I left it there before I came to the Shire - there is no need to wear such a thing when I’m away from my kingdom. And it is too heavy to carry with me,” he said to them, raising his eyebrows as he looked between the children, all eyes wide and stuck on him. “What of you, Master Doderic? You seem very princely to me.”

Doderic preened at the compliment and grinned with wild abandon. “I’m not a prince!” he chastised with a giggle. “We don’t have kings or princes or queens in the Shire! But we have crowns! We have _flower_ crowns. We wear them when we get married or when we come of age or when we have parties and feel like it. They’re not heavy at all!”

Bosco Boffin was on the fauntling’s right side and gave a gasp. “We can make you a flower crown to wear while you’re here! Mister Bilbo, can we make Mister Thorin a flower crown?” the boy asked, swinging green eyes up toward him.

Bilbo was entirely confused as to why _he_ was being asked for permission but he gave a heavy sigh anyway, flapping his lips and shrugging helplessly. “Well, if that’s what you lot feel like you should do, I’d say get to it. He looks very strange without his crown to me. Maybe he’ll look better with one, much more kingly indeed,” he mused, tapping his fingers against his lips.

A sudden chatter burst out and fauntlings surrounded Thorin, plucking at his clothing and attempting to lug him to his feet, numerous voices informing him of what sort of flowers might be fit for a king. Bilbo smiled innocently when the dwarf turned a pleading gaze on him, holding his hands out and raising his eyebrows to his hairline. At the glare he received in turn, he snickered, watching with great pleasure as the fauntlings dragged the king off.

As Bilbo stood, tapping his foot amongst the ground until they disappeared from view, he realized quite suddenly he was alone and without any of his baskets. “Oh for- where did those two menaces go?” he mumbled to himself, turning in a circle in an attempt to find a blond and brunet. No such luck. He heaved a sigh and began to march through the Market to find where the dwarves had run off to - he did have shopping to do, thank you very much.

——

Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield were exhausted. Beyond exhausted - near death, really.

They had been at the Market until well past afternoon tea time, which was much longer than the hobbit was used to, and obviously something the dwarf was not used to at all.

After a quick spread of sandwiches, they, along with Fili and Kili, had decided to retire atop Bag End for the late afternoon sun and some much needed peace and quiet.

Thorin was sitting against the trunk of Bilbo’s oak tree, a fauntling in his lap playing with a flower that had come loose from the crown he was still wearing. When he had attempted to take it off as they reached home, Folco had made his disapproval quite clear indeed and so the king was stuck with it.

Bilbo watched from where he sat across from them, both mesmerized and dazed as a ladybug crawled over his son’s fingers, venturing into the flower and out before it journeyed over a hand once more. He was fairly sure Thorin had likely carried it home with him unknowingly but Folco seemed very entertained either way.

Fili and Kili were at the edge of his hobbit-hole, attempting to figure out how to play conkers from the quick run-through Bilbo had given them, both scowling and smirking smugly in turn.

“Are we going to move to Erebor now?” Folco asked so suddenly and innocently that Bilbo felt his stomach attempt to plummet into the ground.

He snapped his head up to look at the boy’s face, his eyes still stuck on the ladybug, the question not having an impact on him, not yet. Thorin had gone stiff, staring down at his son’s head before he slowly moved his gaze to Bilbo, looking a bit pale. That was certainly not a question either of them had expected or perhaps even wanted. Not on the hobbit’s side, at least.

When the dwarf opened his mouth after a long enough moment that had Folco looking up in confusion between them both, Bilbo discreetly waved him off.

“Er,” he managed before he cleared his throat. “What do you mean, Folco? Did you expect we might?”

Folco nodded his head twice. “Mhmm. Aren’t we gonna move with Papa to the Mountain? Or is he gonna move here? He can’t, though, he’s the king. Right?” he asked, twisting around to look at Thorin. Thorin, who looked as if he was warring between confusion and constipation, a look Bilbo was unfortunately familiar with. It ran through the line of Durin.

“Umm, well… of course he cannot move to the Shire, no. You’re right, he has to be in Erebor as its king,” Bilbo said slowly, frowning at his son. “Did someone say we might move there?”

His son began to look like his dwarf father and the hobbit lamented that he was also of the line of Durin. “No,” he answered in confusion. “But aren’t we gonna? Don’t we have to live with Papa?”

Bilbo found himself concerned with them both being called ‘Papa’ quite suddenly and absurdly, as it would no doubt lead to more awkwardness than it already had. Perhaps he could salvage it yet and convince his son to address Thorin in another way. He shook himself out of those thoughts.

“Well. No. It’s not something we’re expected to do. And we don’t have to,” he explained, coughing into his fist. “Is that something you’d want to do?”

Thorin’s eyes immediately looked for his and he refused to look back at him.

“I want to see Erebor,” Folco answered, his face beginning to take on that look where he thought he may have been asking something he shouldn’t have. It hurt more than a little. “Why don’t we have to move with Papa?”

Bilbo swallowed around a lump in his throat. “The Shire is our home, my dear boy. Your papa doesn’t expect us to leave home,” he informed the fauntling quietly. “But if we did leave, you wouldn’t be able to see any of your family or friends as the Mountain is very, very far away. We wouldn’t be able to visit the Shire for a long while after. You wouldn’t be able to see hobbits every day like you do now; not your friends or your aunts and uncles and cousins. Not your great-grandfather. It would be very different.”

Folco’s mouth twisted thoughtfully and he gave a small nod. “I know,” he said, sounding a bit younger than he was. “But I could write them like you write your friends, right?” Bilbo gave a hesitant nod of confirmation and his son shrugged. “And I could make new friends? Aren’t there fauntling dwarflings in Erebor?”

Thorin blinked down at his son as he twisted to look at him and gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Dwarven children are only dwarflings, _inùdoy._ Yes, dwarflings your age reside in Erebor. Not quite as many as fauntlings in the Shire, however,” he commented, his arm braced more tightly across their son’s stomach, holding him firm against his chest. “The Mountain is very different than the home you are used to.”

“I know,” the boy repeated, bobbing his head. “But I want to live with you. All my friends live with their mommas and papas or papas and papas. It’s odd living with just one papa sometimes even though I like it and I’m happy but now I can live with both my papas, can’t I?”

Bilbo felt his nose twitch and rested his elbow on his knee, dropping his chin into his hand and staring at his son. Well. The boy left him speechless before but not in a way such as this. He didn’t know if Folco truly grasped the way in which his life would change away from the home he grew up in and he knew he had to choose his words carefully, not wanting to influence him in any way. That would be quite unfair.

“Well,” the hobbit finally managed, clearing his throat as it came out froggy. “Well, it is something we can think about and discuss, Folco. It would change our lives in every way and I believe a very good long think about it is fair, yes? Never jump headlong into decisions, always gather as much information as you can first, hmm? Your papa is going to be here for a while yet and we can discuss it at great lengths while he is to make sure it’s something you’re sure you would want.”

Folco picked at Thorin’s tunic, not meeting either of their eyes, shy and worried about his father's words, worried about what he himself should say. Bilbo chuckled much more wetly than he meant to, reaching out and squeezing his son’s knee.

“Don’t worry, my boy, you can speak about it as much as you’d like. It’s a fair thing to want, I’d say. We’d be glad to talk all about it with you, me and your papa both, alright?” he attempted to comfort, raising his eyebrows encouragingly as the fauntling looked up at him. His son gave an unsure nod in return.

“Okay, Papa,” he answered, patting Bilbo’s own hand on his knee. “I’m gonna go ask what Fili and Kili think.”

Both he and Thorin watched helplessly as their son scrambled to his feet, running to go and speak with his cousins that he so looked up to now. The poor lads were likely to be terrified and wouldn’t know what to say but Bilbo was feeling a mite petty given his own state and didn’t feel like rescuing them.

“Bilbo,” Thorin began, sounding wrecked, which was extremely unhelpful, “you need not. I would never ask such a thing of you. I know this is your home and I want you both to be comfortable and at peace. I could never ask you to join me in the Mountain.”

The hobbit snorted, finally looking at the king in disbelief. “Thorin, it’s not my choice,” he said bluntly, motioning in the direction of their son. “It’s his. He’s already accepted you’re his father and he already loves you. I would be quite the villain if I took that choice from him. Have to say I didn’t expect the question so soon even if I knew it would come at some point.”

“You _do_ have a say in it, Bilbo,” Thorin argued. “Your happiness is also important. I understand that you wish for him to have what he wants but I would be remiss in not taking your opinion into account as well. I know what Erebor-"

“Thorin,” Bilbo interrupted, quickly wiping under his eyes in embarrassment and annoyance. “You don’t actually know what Erebor means for me. I wanted it to be my home when we were there, you know I did. Even after all that had happened I wanted it to be, I wanted to be by your side. I left my home when you kicked me out.” He ignored the flinch at his words because they were true. “When I got back here, when I first walked into the Shire, I knew I could live here and be alright, be happy with him. But it’s never felt the way it used to, not the way it did before I met you lot. It hasn’t felt like _home_. You have a couple empty parts in your heart, don’t think I don’t as well.”

He rubbed at his nose before he pushed himself to his feet, brushing off his trousers. “We’ll make sure he understands to the best of his abilities what he’s asking for but I think we both know what his answer will ultimately be at this point,” he said hoarsely. “And we’ll figure out more from there, alright?”

Oh, Bilbo needed to escape. He needed to get away from Thorin and the conversation that had crept up on him when he really would have wished it did not. The magnitude of it all was far too overwhelming - it wasn’t just a matter of packing belongings and moving to Erebor and continuing their daily lives. It involved the talk of their situation, of informing Folco of their situation, talking about royal statuses, duties, what it would be like to live with _dwarves_. And what in all of Yavanna’s acorns and leaves _was_ the situation between himself and Thorin?

The hobbit attempted to hightail it off the hill but his elbow was caught by a familiar dwarf’s hand and he turned his gaze back to Thorin, who had stood and was looking at him with both a desperate and agonized expression. He clearly was thinking along the same lines as his hobbit. _And still wearing that ridiculous flower crown,_ Bilbo noticed.

“We need not do it now or even before Erebor if it comes to pass that we should go to the Mountain together, but we must have a conversation of our own, Bilbo,” Thorin said, letting go of his elbow when he realized he was still gripping it. “You know we must.”

Bilbo very much wanted to get snide with him. Fool of a dwarf. “Yes, I know that,” he said, still a bite more than a statement. “But I am hardly ready for it. If he asks after me, I’ll be in my study.” He looked pointedly at their son, who was sitting between Fili and Kili (they looked most distressed) before he turned on his heel and marched down the stone path into his yard, quickly escaping into the comfort that was Bag End.

——

It took Bilbo quite a bit longer than he would have liked to recover from his conversation with Thorin and Folco. He was simply thankful the dwarves (even the king) were around to keep the fauntling distracted when they finally moved back into Bag End. He stayed in his study, writing out notes and tidbits for the timeline of their quest for the book he was writing. It was becoming a fair amount more detailed than he had expected it would be but he supposed a fair amount of things had occurred.

When his son finally came whining to him that he was starving he packed up his journals and walked hand-in-hand with the boy to his cold storage, deciding what they would make for dinner. Bilbo already knew it would be a beef roast and watched in amusement as his son chose the very same thing. He shooed the lad back into the sitting room with the dwarves and went about making a feast fit for a room full of hobbits.

Once he deemed the roast safe on its own, he ventured into the sitting room, looking at Fili, Kili, and Folco sitting on the ground. The brothers had produced pieces of wood from who-knew-where and were whittling them, following the boy’s orders on how they were supposed to look. From what Bilbo could tell, they were supposed to be creating a warg and a dragon. Kili looked a tad concerned about his ability to whittle a dragon.

He scowled at the wood shavings building up on the ground and vowed to make them pick up every splinter when they were done. Considering that his presence was completely ignored, the hobbit went to his armchair and collapsed into it, grabbing his book and ignoring the oliphaunt in the room.

The oliphaunt being a brooding dwarf who happened to be sitting directly across from him with a pipe and a book himself. Bilbo attempted to peek at the cover and was disappointed to find Khuzdul runes. He refused to ask until some of the tension between them settled and moodily went to his own book, slouching in his chair as he did so.

He was an unlucky hobbit indeed, he thought for the thousandth time in his life, as he barely got to his third sentence and his bell rang. Folco’s head snapped up and he looked torn between darting for the door as he normally did or continuing to monitor his cousins’ work.

“I’ll let you know who it is, my dear boy,” Bilbo informed him with a chuckle, setting his book aside and getting to his feet once more. Could a hobbit truly not get a break? No indeed - not since a blasted wizard showed up on his doorstep.

The hobbit wandered down to his door, unlocking it and opening it up, blinking twice at the sight in front of him. It felt much the same as when he had set eyes on Fili and Kili again, stepping back seven years ago, before all of the hogwash began. Dwalin was standing there (though without a travel cloak) and the brute couldn’t hide the fondness in his eyes from Bilbo even if he tried!

“O-Oh!” he managed. “ _Dwalin!_ Oh my, I wasn’t expecting you, how good it is to see you! Please come in!” He ushered the dwarf in, who simply snorted at his manners, shaking his head.

“You are looking well, Master Baggins,” he announced, crossing his arms over his chest, gripping at his elbows and inspecting the hobbit. Bilbo tried not to squirm. “Now where is the wee one?”

Bilbo opened his mouth before he closed it, blinking dumbly up at the expectant face staring down at him. That was not the question he expected to be asked and he was just about to inform the dwarf where the ‘wee one’ was when he heard wee feet reply. Folco scampered into the hall, far too curious at the unknown and deep voice, hoofing it until he caught sight of Dwalin. He jumped into the air before he froze and dropped his jaw, eyes sweeping up and down along the very large dwarf.

Dwalin was doing much the same to the little fauntling. “Ah! There he is! Oh, I have heard much about you from the king!” he declared and Folco hopped in place again, a grin beginning to take over his face. He looked at the ever present knuckle dusters and tattoos on the dwarf’s bald head.

“You’re Mister Dwalin!” Folco squealed, hurrying forward and promptly clamping onto Bilbo’s leg. He may have been excited but, well, the hobbit had been a bit terrified when he first laid eyes on this one as well. “Papa didn’t say you were coming! He said you were at the Green Dragon Inn!”

“Oh, aye, that’s where I was. Had some business to take care of and now that that is done, I’ve come to lay my eyes upon you,” Dwalin said as he crouched down to look not at all less threatening, in Bilbo’s opinion. Apparently his son disagreed as he let him go, wandering closer to the dwarf, little hands already inspecting ridiculous dusters. “Something is smelling mighty good. What’s for supper?”

Bilbo huffed as the dwarf swung his gaze up toward him. “A roast,” he informed him with a sniff. “You are most lucky there is enough for everyone! Goodness, can you lot not warn me ahead of time when you will be showing up on my doorstep?”

“There was a raven sent, I believe,” Dwalin replied drily and Bilbo scowled, waggling his finger at him.

“That is not what I meant and you know it!” he grumbled. “Now go join your ridiculous fellow dwarves in my sitting room, dinner won’t be ready for a little while yet.” Dwalin sent him such a grin that would normally have Bilbo sending a rude hand gesture his way in return if an impressionable fauntling was not swiveling his head back and forth between them.

“Oh! Come look at what Fili and Kili are making me! Oh and they made me a Mirkwood barrel! Just like you were in but with no fish! It would be too smelly,” Folco informed him, apparently all fear abandoned as he wriggled his hand around the dwarf’s wrist as best he could, tugging him along.

Bilbo smiled smugly at the disgruntled expression that took over the dwarf’s face at the idea of the barrel before he followed them along into the sitting room, watching as the three occupants in it looked up at the arrival of Dwalin. Fili and Kili sent identical grins his way before returning to their work, wanting to impress their cousin the best they could.

Thorin was looking between his friend and his son and Bilbo could very much see the quirk of his lips, thank you, even if he simply grunted in greeting. Dwalin did much the same and the hobbit rolled his eyes to the ceiling, shaking his head.

“Now why would the lads create such a barrel for you? There are no mighty, flowing rivers nearby,” Dwalin said as he allowed Folco to drag him to his precious barrel. Bilbo found himself a bit scandalized as the dwarf immediately found his jar of cinnamon sugar cookies, grabbing them on the way and taking one, handing another to his son. The nerve!

“There are if you _pretend_ ,” Folco scolded, haughty five year old that he was, even as he took a bite of his treat. Just like he had with Thorin, he eagerly began to explain the features of the barrel to the dwarf, Bilbo letting out a noise of distress when another cookie was passed along. He would feel very much like horse dung if he stopped it so he simply forced himself away from the scene, wandering back to his chair and collapsing into it.

“You dwarves will be the death of me yet,” he muttered grumpily, shooting a glare at Thorin as the dwarf had the gall to smirk at him. “Either you or him, I’m not sure which will come first.” He gestured toward his son before he crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you know what? I think I’ll retire early tonight and leave him in your hands to deal with the sugar high. Get myself some much needed rest.”

“I am outnumbered four to one,” Thorin informed him with an arch of his brow. “You may be leaving him in the hands of disaster.”

“Excuse me, but I thought you were a king?” Bilbo returned, squinting. “And as a king I would expect you to be able to issue orders. In fact, I’m fairly sure I’ve seen you do it once or twice before.”

“Oh, you don’t want him using his Mountain voice here, Bilbo,” Kili said as he looked at him, shaking his head in a grave manner. “Pretty sure it wouldn’t work though, given it’s not the Mountain, but I wouldn’t risk it, I really wouldn’t.”

Thorin shot a flat, unimpressed look toward his nephew before he looked back at his hobbit. “I hope that you do not actually believe I have any say in what happens in here,” he said, shrugging a shoulder. Bilbo felt he was not trying very hard at all and sent him the gesture he had wished to use on Dwalin. “There are dwarflings around, Bilbo, you must be wary when doing such a thing.”

Fili snorted as he glanced between them, then looked back down at his slowly-coming-together warg. They were no Bofurs, that was certain. “We’ll teach you more than that, Bilbo, learned them from Mum. Think she invented one or two herself but considering it gets the point across they’ve been useful in the past,” he said with a wry grin. “You know it’s bad when they’ve got Uncle blushing.”

Bilbo and Kili snickered at the king’s expense, ignoring his scowl, which the hobbit felt was rather put on.

“Aye. Should’ve seen her use one on Lord Hallur during the Council. Thought he might faint,” Kili said, beginning to laugh anew, clutching at his sides. “Never seen a dwarf look so offended by it before! It was a beautiful sight.”

Fili laughed with his brother. “That it was!” he said, grinning proudly apparently at the memory of it. Though the hobbit felt a little scandalized once again.

“S-She did that during the Council? Is that not frowned upon?” he squeaked, glancing at Thorin. The king had taken on a rather dark scowl now, entirely real, and Bilbo swallowed.

“Nah,” Fili said easily, waving his hand dismissively. “Only when fists start flying does it become a bit of a headache. Hallur deserved it, kept provoking Mum during the whole Council, didn’t like her taking up with Dwalin in command of the Royal Guard. He needed the help with paperwork, assignments, and training.”

“Mum was the one to go to for that,” Kili agreed with a shrug.

“Aye, the Lady Dis is most formidable,” Dwalin chimed in from where he was helping Folco pretend he was on a river, easily shifting the barrel around with the fauntling inside of it. “No one better to help me with the Guard. Thought I had most of it figured out until she came along and told me I didn’t.”

“Aye, my sister has a cunning mind for work with dwarven armies,” Thorin said. Bilbo heard the slight mocking tone in his voice. “And the Council. I fear what awaits me in the Mountain when I return as my heir refused to stay behind and speak in my name. She will have rid Hallur and Skafi while I’m away even though I forbade her from doing such a thing.”

“Good riddance!” Fili said seriously as he looked at his uncle. “They’re only in it for themselves, I would’ve been rid of them a long while ago. It’s not worth the games you have to play with them. I don’t care what sort of sway they have with the Firebeards and Ironfists, they’re not honorable dwarves.”

“Honorable or not, lad, they should be on the Council. Much as you don’t trust them, you’d trust other nobles far less,” Dwalin said as he glanced back at the indignant-looking Fili. “My brother goes on about them after every meeting.”

Thorin snorted. “None of us have to like them but we do need them,” he said firmly, raising an eyebrow at his heir. Bilbo wondered how many times they’d had this argument. “Your mother knows it but she doesn’t like the attempts at manipulation. It wounds pride rather than feeds sense for her.”

Bilbo distinctly heard Kili mutter about how Thorin would know all about that and sighed, waving his arms around. “Alright! No more dwarven politics in my smial, please and thank you. This is why the Shire doesn’t bother with all that nonsense, it only leads to arguments and- and wars! Goodness gracious, I don’t know how you survive it,” he said, brushing sweat off his brow. The thought of it all was giving him anxiety.

Kili huffed at him. “Please, Bilbo, you’d be very good at it,” he said in a tone that suggested the hobbit was being entirely stupid for worrying over it. “If you can play games with elves, Men, and dragons, you can sit on a dwarven council. You’ve got plenty of experience with swaying _stubborn."_ He glared at his uncle.

The hobbit groaned, collapsing back in his chair, waving his hands between them all. “That just goes to show how I would very much not want to partake in it anymore. I’ve seen too much of it for one lifetime, thank you,” he implored. “Now please kindly shut your mouths or I’ll show you my own inventive gestures.”

“Papa!” a voice admonished him and Bilbo jumped, not having even heard the fauntling approach him. Folco pressed his hands on the arm of his chair, pushing himself up and down as he did, a familiar frown on his face. The hobbit grumbled at the idea that he could now receive two of those frowns at once.

“You are right, that was most rude of me,” Bilbo allowed, sighing and looking back at the brothers, giving them a mocking smile. “I apologize.” They both ducked their heads with identical smirks as Folco nodded in satisfaction, climbing onto his lap, swinging his head between the dwarves in the room. Dwalin came to stand in front of the fireplace, leaning against the mantel and looking at the brothers’ work with no hidden amount of distaste. Thankfully he had enough sense to not comment on it.

And Thorin had enough sense to return to his book even if he looked as moody as he had earlier.

Bilbo decided he was very much ready for this day to end, thank you very much.

“Sorry, my boy, I should go and check on dinner, up you get,” he said, patting his son’s thighs. The fauntling obeyed without question, settling himself down to inspect the woodwork his cousins had so far instead, happily pointing out to Kili he was close to a dragon, but not quite there yet.

The hobbit retreated to his kitchen, rubbing at his chest, his heart thumping a bit too quickly. And Folco wanted to move to Erebor! Where all that hogwash was occurring! The boy would kill him, it was decided.

Bilbo checked on his roast and the doneness of his vegetables before he set about getting a large basket of sourdough bread slices and dinner rolls out, settling it in the middle of his table. He was not at all surprised to see a dwarven guest arrive in his kitchen and gave more of a grimace than a smile to Fili, who looked like he expected to receive that much himself.

The blond came to lean against the counter closest to him, crossing his arms over his chest and watching Bilbo work on getting plates and cutlery out for everyone, stacking them on the corner of the table. “So,” he began cheerfully, “Folco wants to move to Erebor. Thanks for abandoning us to that conversation by the way, Uncle was useless after you left.” At the glare he received, he held up one hand and smiled placatingly. “I’m joking, Bilbo. It was unexpected is all, we didn’t know what to say to the lad considering we didn’t know what you two discussed with him. He informed us you still had to speak at great lengths before you made a decision, though.”

The hobbit sighed, glancing sidelong at Fili before he grabbed the dish his roast and vegetables was cooking in with thick mitts, heaving it onto his counter. “Yes, well. That’s what we agreed on. It was a rather unexpected conversation for your uncle and I as well,” he mumbled. “He’s very taken with the idea of living in the Mountain and being close to Thorin. I can’t fault him for that but it would be a bit of a life changer.”

“You were ready for that once before,” Fili pointed out, entirely unhelpfully. “I know it’s different now! I just mean Erebor, you were ready for _Erebor_. You’ve already told my brother and I how much you wanted to stay. I’m not saying it’s something you _should_ do but you look like Uncle used to when you talk about the Mountain.” He shrugged as Bilbo scoffed at him. “It’s true and you know it.”

“You know, Fili,” Bilbo began drily, “I think you are actually very much saying it’s something I _should_ do.” He received a dimpled grin for his efforts.

“I’m speaking the truth of the matter. You miss Erebor and Erebor misses you. The whole Company misses you, we speak about you often enough and we’d love to have you and Folco. I think that one might actually be worshiped,” he said thoughtfully. “Going to be the only one of his kind after all. _Would_ be, _Mahal_ , Bilbo, let me _speak_.”

Bilbo sniffed, turning away from Fili so he couldn’t see the faces he was making at him anymore.

“Throw Thorin off the table and look at what you want, what Folco wants. I think it’s one and the same. We’d all be there for you, you know we would, no matter what kind of hardships you might face for the first few months. And if things don’t go right, keep Bag End for a while, just in case. It might give you peace of mind, at least,” Fili argued, turning and grabbing the dinnerware Bilbo had retrieved, setting the table for him as he spoke. “We know how you feel about the idea of seeing us go - it’s the same way we feel at the idea of leaving you behind.”

“For Eru’s sake,” Bilbo whispered, leaning forward against his counter on his elbows, clamping his eyes shut tight. “Fili, I have cried far too much over you dwarves, stop this at once.”

“No,” Fili said teasingly. “Obviously I want you to think about all of it, as much as you want; write your thoughts down, you’re good at that. I just think your heart is in the East and has been since the moment you saw Erebor. We dwarves value our hearts and those of us that know sense don’t like seeing a heart separated from where it belongs.”

Bilbo sighed, turning to look at the dwarf as he came to rest next to him again, looking warmly over his own face. “Fili, I have to say, your uncle _is_ the table,” he said, voice hushed. “He’s the biggest part of all this, he’s the one holding everything together. I don’t know how I could possibly live near him and raise our son together without- well, without thinking of everything else! That may be a bit selfish of me but it’s not just Erebor that holds my heart.”

The blond smiled at him, his eyes speaking loudly enough for his sorrow. “I know,” he said quietly. “Trust me, I know. I can’t ask you to feel a certain way or do anything you don’t want to in that regard. But get as mad at me as you’d like, Bilbo, Thorin loves you with everything he has and he wants more than just his son at his side. I don’t think he’ll dare ask for it, though.”

The hobbit sniffled. “As well he shouldn’t,” he said around the lump that had appeared in his throat, wiping his hand over his nose. “He hardly deserves it.”

His argument sounded incredibly weak and pitiful even to himself and he scowled at Fili as the dwarf winked knowingly at him.

“Tell me one good reason why I should even entertain the thought,” Bilbo huffed loftily, regretting the words as they left his lips, a strangled noise following as he tried to take them back. Fili pounced on it.

“Because you love and want him too,” he said victoriously before he turned away, looking toward the hallway “Oi! Dinner is ready, get in here and thank Bilbo for what looks like a true hobbit feast!”

The blond grinned his blasted grin at him and Bilbo happily introduced him to a rude hand gesture of his own invention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a lot of adult things going around in this one. As far as dwarven politics go, it's not actually going to be a big thing, it's here to Terrify Bilbo Further. Hope you guys enjoy! [My lord and savior.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Gloomier)
> 
> If you want to come chat with me on tumblr, please feel free to! :) [Moi.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)
> 
> cough edited it for format errors cough I probably missed some


	7. Chapter 7

Over the next few days in the Shire, Bilbo learned two things.

One, Dwalin was surprisingly good with children and seemed to enjoy them as much as he enjoyed Grasper and Keeper, which the hobbit thought was saying something. He, Fili, Kili, Bilbo, and Folco ventured down to the Party Field spread out around the Party Tree with a few extra fauntlings in tow and the hobbit learned just _how_ good he was with them. He suspected it might have been a result of the rarity in which dwarves had children and the grief perhaps in knowing how difficult it was to even bring them into the world. In Hobbiton, there were plenty of fauntlings to go around.

Bilbo watched with amused exasperation as his fellow hobbit parents spied on them, eyeing the situation critically, looking for any missteps the dwarves may have around them so they might be able to declare them ‘most unhobbit-like.’ When they found none and saw rather how the group of fauntlings were so taken with the members of the Company, they began to not-so-subtly visit with their own broods. Their children would inevitably ask to play and their parents would declare that a most splendid idea indeed before they abandoned them and left with great haste.

When the chatter began to grate on his ears, Bilbo decided he would leave the group to it, heading back to Bag End and perhaps straight into a nap, if he were lucky. When he ventured inside his home and saw Thorin in his sitting room in a borrowed chair at a borrowed table, he would remind himself he was never a lucky hobbit and should really just stop hoping to be. How Bilbo could forget the king elected to stay behind and work, he couldn’t say, and he quite wished he were back under the Party Tree.

The second thing he had learned was that Thorin and himself were both still perfectly capable of communicating with utmost awkwardness and forced politeness while they ignored what needed to be said. The hobbit wasn’t sure if that was more or less surprising but given their past he was leaning toward the latter. As the days went on, tension in Bag End increased and Bilbo was entirely unsure what to do about it. Folco was far too sharp of a lad and before long he would begin to question what on earth was happening. His fathers would both be incredibly confident informing him they hadn’t a clue.

Blast. Thorin had spotted him as he froze in the archway of the sitting room, one foot facing toward it and the other pointed down the hall. He should have just kept walking, he really should have. But blue eyes had pinned him to the spot, so he cleared his throat and wandered into the room as nonchalantly as possible (considering it was at a bit of a wobble, he assumed he failed) before he took up his usual spot in his father’s armchair.

He rapped his knuckles against the chair, looking at his fireplace before glancing sidelong at the dwarf, who had resumed shuffling through papers, looking more than a tad stiff now.

“Er,” Bilbo managed before he cleared his throat once more as Thorin lifted his eyes to look at him again. If he weren’t so terribly caught up in his own feelings he might laugh at the sudden apprehension in the king’s eyes and declare them both children that needed to grow up.

Well. He was just as frightened as Thorin, thank you.

“I think your dwarves have managed to attract nearly two dozen fauntlings to the Party Tree by now,” Bilbo announced. “Of all ages. Their parents decided to put their trust into Dwalin and have abandoned them by the hour! I’m not sure I’ve seen him so pleased with such a turn of events, actually.” He frowned to himself before he shrugged. “It amazes me that you lot are so good with them. I know, I know, dwarflings are treasured but it still doesn’t mean I’m any less amazed!” He waved his finger at Thorin as he opened his mouth to predictably tell him why his dwarves were doing well with the children.

“I am glad for it,” the king replied instead, his eyes drifting back down to his work. “Now that we’ve reclaimed Erebor we have no desire to journey unless it is required for us to, as you well know, but our time in the Shire has been good for them. For all of us.”

Bilbo nodded in agreement. “Yes, I believe so as well. Your nephews have expressed a great desire to stay behind and forget all that Mountain hogwash,” he informed him, smiling at the unimpressed glance he received.

“They will not like it when their mother shows and drags them back by their ears,” Thorin said with a hint of mirth. “I do see the appeal but we are unfortunately needed in Erebor.”

“Can’t run itself, I suppose,” Bilbo commented, grabbing up his book that he could never find the time to finish, flipping it open to its bookmark. They fell into their faux companionable silence for a few good moments before the king cleared his throat and the hobbit lamented he would never finish his blasted book.

“Bilbo,” Thorin started, strained. “We do have to return to Erebor.”

Bilbo blinked at him, raising his eyebrows before sweeping his gaze along the room when the dwarf didn’t continue. “You know, I found myself aware of that at some point,” he said as he locked eyes with him again, shaking his head. “Your point in informing me of this?”

Thorin sighed. “I spoke with my guard and we agreed that in three weeks' time it would be ideal to set out. It is early summer yet and by the time we are in the East the worries of heat during travel will be abated. I told you I would inform you of it ahead of time,” he said haltingly, his right fist on the desk clenching and unclenching. Bilbo recognized it as the dwarf’s own anxiety.

His own stomach decided to pretend at being the sea. “Oh,” he managed, swallowing around a dry throat. “Right. I suppose you did have to set a date at some point. Well. That suddenly sounds like very little time indeed, doesn’t it?”

The king inclined his head in agreement. “I would wish to stay the summer if you would allow it but we cannot afford to be away for so long. Even if I were to send Fili and Kili back I find that I now know the harm that might cause. And it would not bode well with my people,” he said, frowning as his eyes roamed over the hobbit’s face. It always made him squirm.

“And we’ve already gone up and down that road,” Bilbo muttered. “You are expecting a decision and answer before then, I gather?”

Thorin flinched at the question. “No,” he answered with a shake of his head, looking entirely weary now, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “I don’t expect anything, Bilbo. I cannot. If you decide not to join us I would understand. I would understand if you _did_ wish to join us but remained here for a while yet. I am more than aware that this was unexpected for you. It took a very long time and the help of a wizard to convince me to leave my own home in the Blue Mountains. The idea of Erebor was dangerous for myself as well.”

Bilbo would not feel badly for him. No, he would absolutely not. He would not feel badly for causing the dwarf to look like that, he did it entirely to himself.

Bother it all, he felt like a villain for making Thorin step on eggshells around him. Not that he didn’t deserve to tread carefully but it didn’t take the instinctive need to comfort him away when he was hurting, unfortunately.

“Yes, well,” he managed before he cleared his throat. “At least it only housed a dragon then. I’m faced with an endless amount of dwarves to consider and if a fauntling stands a chance amongst them all. It was a bit different when it was just myself.”

Thorin arched a brow at him, at least some of his discomfort fading. “Folco is my son,” he stated more than a bit firmly. “I believe my people would rejoice in having him join Erebor but if even one were to make protests known it would not end well for them.”

Bilbo gave him an unimpressed look. “What are you going to do, Thorin, publicly execute them? I had to endure some unsavory comments about him before he was even born, you know. Had to prove myself and him for a while after, too. Judgmental hobbits can be rather terrifying and er, damaging, if they want to be. They weren’t sure what to make of a child with mixed blood but after some words from myself and those that supported me, those particular hobbits felt most ashamed of themselves indeed and took him in like any other,” he explained with a shrug. “It can take time for people to accept the unknown but violence is not the answer in forcing them to.”

He waved his finger at Thorin, even as the dwarf’s eyes went skyward.

“ _Violence_ was not going to be my first resort,” he retorted indignantly. “But it is still a crime to speak ill of your king and his family.”

“A crime?” Bilbo asked, blanching. “Goodness, we would all be locked up here in the Shire if it were a crime. We speak ill of each other’s families all the time. Or at least gossip about them. Though we do our level best to make sure no one gets wind of it.”

Thorin sighed, shaking his head in mild disbelief and Bilbo distinctly heard him mutter ‘hobbits’ as if they were the strange ones. Which they weren’t given how gossipy dwarves were in general as well. The hobbit had very much seen the king listening in on conversations taking place around the campfire as well, thank you very much.

“I know not where to begin on the differences between dwarves and hobbits,” Thorin finally said and Bilbo snorted in response. “It would still not be tolerated in the Mountain. He would be well protected there, Bilbo, as would you.”

“We’re already well protected here,” the hobbit pointed out, pursing his lips tight and holding out a hand in emphasis. He faltered when the dwarf’s eyes dropped down to his papers once more, another sharp slice of pain making itself known in his chest. Bother it all. “Thorin, I’m sorry, it’s not my intent to hurt or- or subtly give you my opinions on all of this. I’m simply stating what I already know, I’m not saying it can’t or won’t change. There’s still a lot… _there_ to mull over but I told you: it’s not my choice. Goodness, stop making me feel so terrible!” He huffed, tossing his book aside and slouching in his armchair, looking moodily into his fire.

“You chose to come traipsing about through the Shire with very little warning to me, I think I have the right to be turned around about it still! I wake up every morning wondering if I’ve dreamed all this up, you know, it’s a bit hard to wrap my head around uprooting everything and going to live in Erebor. Please don’t take offense if I go back and forth on it.”

Thorin sighed as he looked back to the hobbit, frowning his heavy, brooding frown. “Bilbo, I am-"

“Thorin, for Eru’s _sake_ , stop apologizing to me,” Bilbo snapped a bit more grouchily than intended. “Please. I’m not sure how many more I can take before I might lose my mind.”

The king stared at him, more than a little confused and frustrated himself before he finally let out another long sigh. “We need to find a way to speak with each other, Bilbo,” he said slowly - that was it.

“ _Yavanna_ ,” Bilbo groaned, rolling his eyes before he waved his hands, hopping to his feet. “Do you know what? You can think on that for a while, think on what just came out of your mouth, you ridiculous dwarf. We may find a way to speak with each other when we’re not speaking about _Erebor_. That Mountain has caused me enough trouble and it is only promising to cause me more from here on out! I have plenty of thinking to do about it and I should not like to talk about it every day as well!”

He turned on his heel and stomped toward the hall, still waving his hands above his head. “I should like peace and quiet, thank you!” he hollered, making sure Thorin could hear him clearly. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my bedroom and I expect only to be disturbed if it’s an emergency! Not a moment sooner!”

——

Bilbo could admit that he had possibly overreacted.

Like a child.

He could admit that to himself but he would not, any time soon, be admitting that to anyone else. And really, Thorin Oakenshield deserved his ire no matter where it came from - he had tried to kill him, he banished him, then left him to return to the Shire _pregnant!_ And also hadn’t apologized for over five years for any of it! Yes, he could certainly put up with a bit of an attitude now and then.

It didn’t help Bilbo not feel like, well, an arse about it all.

Thorin was trying. All of them could see that, but Bilbo especially so, considering most of his efforts were directed at him and his son. The king was attempting to make recompense and he was attempting to do it with no one really on his side, not that the hobbit could see. And there he was, making it unnecessarily hard on him and behaving like a fauntling as he did so.

He was just so entirely bothered. The part of him that hadn’t forgiven Thorin and likely never would wanted very badly to send the dwarves back to Erebor and tell them to never return. Folco and he would be quite alright in the Shire forgetting any of this hogwash had ever happened. Did they not deserve peace? His son certainly did and had actually never experienced anything but. If they went on to Erebor that would forever change - he would never again know the calm life the Shire held for him and they would both be so very out of place, no matter what the royal family liked to say.

He was also tired of feeling conflicted in his own blasted feelings on Thorin. Their son made it perfectly clear where he stood on him but it didn’t right all the wrongs that had occurred. But Bilbo could still look at the dwarf and feel his heart pitter-patter fitfully, trying to convince him to wash away the past and throw himself into the future - into Thorin’s arms.

But he would not.

Well. Not so easily.

Bilbo grumbled to himself as he wandered around his bedroom, picking up books, knick knacks, and various other items, rearranging them to try and give his mind something to do while accepting some semblance of change. It didn’t particularly work out well when a spike of anxiety had him putting everything back where it belonged. He gave up on that task and decided to make another attempt at reading, plucking one of his books at random and throwing himself onto his soft mattress.

When he heard a scamper of feet in the hallway, he may have let the open book drop onto his face because he would never be able to read in peace again.

Folco bustled into his room without bothering to knock and Bilbo heard him gasp once he caught sight of him. It immediately washed away all his frustration and replaced it with fondness for the boy (and the urge to laugh) as he heard him come to stand at the side of his bed. As he was beginning to wonder what on earth his son was waiting for, he heard an indignant scoff.

“Papa, you’re not asleep!” Folco accused. Bilbo snorted, grabbing his book and tossing it aside, looking at the fauntling who was leveling him with a most displeased glare, small arms crossed over a small chest and not looking anymore intimidating for it.

“How in the world could you tell, you little rascal?” the hobbit asked as he sat up more. He promptly froze once he got a good look at the boy. “Oh dear. What in all of Yavanna’s acorns did you do?”

Folco looked himself up and down and put on a rather good show of seeming surprised by his own appearance, Bilbo had to say. The boy was covered in dirt, grass, and his hair was littered with dried oak leaves and what looked like small flecks of bark. At least he couldn’t see any blood, not even any scraped knees - though unless he had gotten to Thorin first, the hobbit knew that would’ve been cause for an immediate request for a good old-fashioned healing-hug.

He watched the boy grab his shirt, gazing down and over it as he fisted the material in his hands before he looked back up at his father and put on a winning grin that reminded him far too much of a brunet dwarf. “Umm,” Folco managed before he let out a small whine at the look that earned him. “We were fighting in the war, Papa! War is dirty, Dwalin said so. But we won and he said I could come home and take a bath if I wanted to and- and he said you’d probably want me to before you made supper. Do you know where Papa is? Fili was looking for him!”

Bilbo watched his son helplessly, not at all sure which part he was more disgruntled by. His son fighting in a war, Dwalin encouraging it, the blasted dwarf sending _him_ the mess with a subtle hint at _supper_ \- Thorin obviously no longer being in his home because he had likely scared him off.

“Er. No, my boy, I haven’t any idea. He was here not too long ago so he can’t be far. Fili will find him,” he said with a long-suffering sigh as he looked the disheveled fauntling up and down again. “Goodness gracious me. Yes, let’s get you into an early bath before we have to scrub down the whole smial before dinner. I hope those cousins of yours managed to come here without bringing this much of the battlefield along with them.” He pushed himself out of bed and one of his hands was quickly claimed by his boy.

“Noo, they’re still with Dwalin. Well, Fili walked me home and now I guess he’s looking for Papa. They were dirty too, though!” he tattle-taled. “And Everard got stabbed.”

Bilbo side-eyed his son as they left his bedroom and went straight into the bathroom next to it. “I truly hope you mean pretend stabbed and not that your cousin actually got hurt,” he muttered. He wouldn't put it past that boy, though. “And you? You didn’t bring home any battle wounds I have to worry about, did you?”

Folco shook his head seriously and Bilbo watched as an oak leaf escaped and fluttered to his tiled floor. “No, I was wearing your mithril armor!” he informed his father. “An orc tried to stab me straight through my belly but he didn’t make it ‘cause of it. ‘Cause nothing can get through it! Right?”

The hobbit picked as much war debris from his son’s hair as possible as he spoke. “That’s right,” he agreed, knowing Folco knew that much. “And I am very glad you wore it. I would’ve had an even worse mess on my hands if you had been stabbed in the belly, I’m sure.” He poked said belly before he helped the boy undress, listening to more tales of the battle he fought in.

He was slightly alarmed and yet not at all surprised at the amount of strategy and detail that went into it. Considering the amount of fauntlings that had been in the Party Field he was entirely grateful he had not been there to witness the horror it had likely been. Well. If any hobbits came complaining, he knew just the dwarf to send them to.

It didn’t take long to wrangle his son into a hot bath that needed to be changed out twice during the course of his thorough scrubbing. Bilbo was only satisfied when his skin was pink and murky water stopped flowing from his thick curls. He wrapped him up tight in a towel, arms and everything, and used it to his advantage to attempt to tame his hair before it tried to take flight from his head as it dried. Once he gave that up as useless, he followed his caterpillar of a son into his bedroom and helped get him into some early pajamas, the fortunate brat.

When Folco politely informed him he could get into pajamas if he wanted too, he snatched the boy up and held him over his shoulder, wincing at squeals as he carried him back into his own bedroom.

“You can help with laundry, I think,” Bilbo declared once he set his son down on the edge of his bed and waggled his finger under a wrinkled nose. “You have a rather large pile of increasingly dirty clothing from the past two days that needs scrubbing and we’ll clean our sheets while we’re at it.”

“But I’m clean and in my pajamas!” Folco argued as passionately as any five year old could. “I’ll just get wet again!”

“Well, with that attitude you will!” Bilbo huffed. “You won’t get wet if you try _not_ to, my boy, and being clean does not mean you’ve lost use of your arms. You can help me get everything ready and you can help me hang your clothes once I’ve finished scrubbing, hmm? Goodness, why do I feel like I’m bartering with you on a daily basis now? Your plan all along, wasn’t it?”

His son giggled, squirming where he sat, grinning as bright as the sun. “Noo! I’ll help, Papa, I promise,” he swore with a great nod. “Do we have to do our own laundry in Erebor? Kili said because we’re all royal we don’t have to do chores like we do here! He said you don’t have to cook or clean in the Mountain ‘cause other dwarves do it for you.”

“Your cousin is a filthy liar and I ask that you not believe another word that comes from his mouth,” Bilbo grumbled. “If we live in Erebor, we are certainly not going to take advantage and become lazy bums. We’ll do chores the same as we do here, thank you, and we’ll force that cousin of yours to do his own as well. Goodness, what else has he been prattling on about? I should inform your father that his nephew has turned into a spoiled brat and a terrible influence, see how far he gets then.”

Folco wrinkled his nose at him once more. “Kili’s not _spoiled_ ,” he scolded. “He has to do _princely_ work and says he doesn’t have time for anything else ‘cause he’s helping rule the Mountain.”

Bilbo buried his face in his hands with a small groan before he collapsed on the bed to sit next to his son. “I am having a conversation with Thorin,” he muttered before giving the fauntling the stink-eye. “That cousin of yours is a pain in my rear end. He does indeed have princely work to attend to but he’s also got plenty of time for chores, believe you me. We’ll make him pull his own weight yet! And you will continue to pull yours, thank you very much.”

As he patted his son’s knee, Folco gave a very put upon sigh before veering into a rather manic grin so quickly it had Bilbo’s head spinning.

“So we’re gonna move to Erebor and live with Papa and Fili and Kili?!” he asked with no small amount of excitement. _Blast_.

The hobbit took in a deep breath, puffing out his cheeks as he held it, looking at his empty fireplace. Once his chest began to ache, he let it out with a gusty sigh and looked back to the fauntling. “Well. Is that something you’ve been thinking very hard on the last few days?” he asked, pulling himself further up his bed and lying on his side, propping himself up on his elbow. Folco immediately slid into a mirrored position.

“Mhmm,” he hummed with another bob of his head. “Yeah, you told me to! I’ve been thinking real hard on it, Papa, I swear! I wanna see Papa’s Mountain and then I can see where Smaug was sleeping for so long and getting fat! And, umm, I can see the _throne_. And I get to meet Auntie Dis! Fili says she likes caramel chews a whole lot and so do I, so I can bring her some of Missus Gamgee’s. Oh! Oh and I can see the markets! And then Papa can still tell me stories before bed and then you can read to me!”

Bilbo rested his chin on his hand as he watched the fauntling ramble on, blue eyes lighting up whenever he moved on to yet another thing that could happen if they lived in Erebor. He watched as the boy scrunched his nose up and looked at the ceiling in thought before he grinned and giggled, happy as could be at everything running through his vast imagination. It tugged at Bilbo's heartstrings. Folco was easily entertained for the most part and he’d watched him chatter on and on about the many things he was looking forward to in his day or week. It all seemed a bit paled in comparison to this.

“It does sound like you’ve been thinking on it, yes,” he mused, snatching up his son’s free hand and squeezing it to give himself a bit of courage. “And that all sounds wonderful, my boy, it does. Do you remember what we talked about under the Oak? That Erebor is very, very far away? And very, _very_ different than the Shire. No hobbits around besides yourself and I. I have many friends in the Mountain but it’s a bit different than family, you know.”

Folco nodded and Bilbo watched with a kick to his belly as he folded in on himself, shy all over again. “I know, Papa,” he whispered, squeezing his hand before he pressed it into the bed. The hobbit obliged, flattening his fingers and allowing the fauntling to begin tracing shapes on his palm. A nervous gesture but it certainly helped them both get through more complicated conversations. None of which were this complicated, of course.

“Umm. But you said I could write my friends!” Folco argued, which hurt just a little that he even thought he had to. “And we could write all of our cousins and Pappy. And- and that we could come visit the Shire even if it’d be a long time before we could! And I would have family in Erebor, too! And you could see your friends and, umm, then we can be near _Papa_. ‘Cause, ‘cause he lives in Erebor and he _has_ to-“

“Oh Eru, you ridiculous boy, come here,” Bilbo interrupted in a bit of alarm because his son’s face was growing red and his voice was cracking in the way that threatened tears. “It’s alright, come here.” The hobbit sat up and opened his arms, which immediately filled with a fauntling that clung to him and snuffled against his shirt. He sighed as he held the boy tight, rubbing soothing circles over his back, pressing a long kiss to his temple.

“Goodness, you haven’t changed your mind one bit, have you? Folco, I’m very proud of you for thinking about such a big decision like this, you needn’t be scared. I told you it’s alright to talk about, my boy, and I’m _very_ happy to discuss this with you. Not even a lick upset,” Bilbo murmured into his son’s hair, scrunching his own nose when he felt wetness gathering at his collar. He felt rotten for making his son cry and wondered how worried the boy had truly been about if it might get him into trouble or not, even with being told by both of his fathers it was okay.

And his own attitude and general grumpiness probably hadn’t helped since their talk under the Oak, which made Bilbo feel like an awful parent indeed. He tried to hide it but the boy saw right through him as he always did.

Folco sniffled against him, his hands fisting his father’s shirt. “You’re not?” he asked wetly and the hobbit huffed.

“Of course not,” Bilbo said, untangling himself from his son so he could hold him at arms length, raising his eyebrows expectantly as blue eyes hesitantly met his. “Not even a teensy tiny bit upset. I’m sorry you thought I might be, my dear, but I’m certainly not. I am _very_ proud of you because this is a most grownup thing to be speaking about. Very proud indeed. Yes?”

The fauntling, despite his tears, was still perfectly capable of scrutinizing and Bilbo couldn’t hold in a laugh as he was put on the receiving end of a critical eye for a good long moment. Apparently Folco deemed him not to be speaking falsely as he rubbed his nose into his sleeve and nodded his understanding.

“Okay, Papa,” he said most quietly. “But I don’t want you to be sad anymore.”

Bilbo’s smile slipped right off his face and he furrowed his brow in bemusement. “Sad? What do you mean? I’m not sad, my boy,” he reassured, entirely confused why his son thought he might be. “Did you think I was?”

Folco nodded far too quickly for his liking. “Yeah and you were!” he accused more in fear than with any actual heat. “You’re sad, Papa, you look like _this_ when you’re sad.” The fauntling gave a big, pursed-lipped frown and squinted his eyes at him in what was apparently ‘sadness.’

Well, he had certainly looked more flattering in other impressions of himself that the boy did.

“Er,” Bilbo managed, clearing his throat and shaking himself because he did not look like that, thank you. “Do I? I’ve simply had a lot on my mind, you know, just like you have. I’m not at all sad about, about- what on _earth_ is that face for?” He gaped at his son as he openly glowered at him, Thorin showing himself loud and proud on the boy’s face. “Ex _cuse_ me, what have I done to earn that?”

“You said we’re supposed to be honest about our feelings,” Folco huffed at him, crossing his arms tight over his chest, lower lip jutted out. “You’re supposed to be honest, too! You’ve been sad and I don’t want you to be anymore ‘cause it makes me feel bad! _Why’ve_ you been sad, Papa?”

Bilbo attempted to school his features but he was likely failing quite badly at it considering he couldn’t even close his mouth. He stared at his son who looked so determined to get an answer out of him and felt his heart begin to rabbit away in his chest in protest. _For Eru’s sake_. Quite a few crude names he’d learned from Bofur eagerly presented themselves to him and he felt like all of them. Folco thought he was _sad_ about all of this. He certainly wasn’t thrilled but it was so much more than sadness as well and that’s all the sweet fauntling could read on him.

The hobbit felt more than a bit selfish. “Oh for Yavanna- Folco. Do you know that I am absolutely terrified for your tween years? I may have mentioned it once or a dozen times before but I think it deserves to be said again, goodness. I am so very sorry, my boy, that was hardly fair of me to make you feel badly. I promise you, I _promise you,_ my dear, I am not sad in any way you need to worry about. Maybe I’ve been sad at the thought of leaving home but I think that’s rather normal, don’t you? It’s always hard to leave home and we’ll be leaving the Shire to find a different home in Erebor. Quite the big change but I’m also happy about it,” he implored before blinking twice. “I am? Err, well, _yes_ , I _am_ , I’m happy about it, too. Excited, even, for another journey. Excited to see my friends and excited for you to see the Mountain. And so very, _very_ pleased that we get to do it with your papa. Alright?”

Folco gave a none-too-flattering sniffle and Bilbo had to refrain from stopping him from dragging both of his hands across his nose. Hands could be washed.

“Alright,” his ridiculous fauntling muttered, moody five year old from his tears. But Bilbo could’ve cried himself from relief: his son believed him at least. “I’m happy too, Papa.”

Bilbo sighed, clamping his hands on Folco’s shoulders. “Do you know, that’s all I needed to hear,” he said, leaning forward and planting a messy, wet kiss on the boy’s forehead, earning a whine out of it. “That’s all I ever need to hear. That you’re happy. And did you know that grownups are perfectly capable of being very foolish? You are not supposed to agree that quickly, goodness _gracious_ , leave my room immediately and go make us supper.”

His son had begun to bob his head before he quickly stopped and giggled at the teasing, squirming closer to his father and throwing his arms around him. “I thought we were doing laundry!” he cried. “I can’t make supper by myself!”

The boy would be the end of him. He walked all over him for the entire conversation and no one would ever find out, thank you. Bilbo huffed as he picked his son up, looping one arm around his waist and holding him horizontally at his hip, carrying him out of the room. Folco squealed and kicked his legs, attempting to free himself but the hobbit was having none of that.

“You are a terrible manipulator and a smart aleck and a truly awful boy indeed,” he declared as he carried him into the kitchen. “The most awful boy in all of the Shire. Worse than that Cousin Everard, believe you me!” Bilbo hitched his son up and deposited him on the table, waggling his finger at him. “How are you going to keep up that reputation when we go live with a bunch of unruly dwarves, hmm?”

He poked the tip of his son’s nose before he turned and marched across the hall to his pantry. “Fine! I will cook supper by myself and I will make sure to be most heavy handed with the peas! See how smart you’re feeling then!” He waved his hands over his head before he began to gather vegetables, hearing very dramatic wailing in the kitchen behind him, which was ruined by attempts at hiding a fit of fauntling giggling.

The most tremendously awful boy in all of Middle Earth and he was stuck with him.

——

Thorin was suspiciously absent at supper.

Even Dwalin showed up and simply shrugged his massive shoulders when asked about the king, which was rather unhelpful. Folco was put off for all of one minute before he was distracted by a dramatic retelling of the war he had fought in earlier that day.

Bilbo was strongly reminded of the night he had met the dwarves what with the state of his table, food flying through the air, and such boisterous laughter he wondered if his hearing would recover that night. Kili still did not know how to close his mouth when fighting food and humor at once.

He wasn’t even upset, confound them all. How could he be? This was likely going to be a common enough occurrence because he was moving to Erebor. And his son was laughing so very hard he was visibly wearing himself out, which was a nice surprise and nothing to be upset by. But still. Thorin was absent.

It wasn’t until after dishes had been washed and put away and his houseguests had retired to his sitting room that he was finally able to approach Fili while his son was distracted.

“Where is your uncle?” he asked the dwarf as he smoked his pipe, sitting in front of the fireplace (on the ground) with a book propped up on his knees. Because everyone but the hobbit was allowed peace when reading, even _this_ one. Kili had given him the stink-eye and stolen his cousin away to be entertained, though.

“Hiding,” Fili replied easily as he flipped a page. Bilbo tapped his foot on the ground as he waited for him to expand on that, perhaps, and sniffed when he didn’t.

“In the bushes outside? Where is he hiding, Fili?” he demanded impatiently. “At the inn?”

The dwarf peered up at him with an amused little smirk and Bilbo was tempted to kick him in the ribs for it. “Aye, probably. He was looking a bit stormy when I found him earlier,” he said knowingly and the hobbit rolled his eyes, groaning. “Did you yell at him again?”

“I most certainly did and I feel rotten about it for once,” Bilbo said, crossing his arms firmly over his chest and grumbling. “I’d like to apologize and I was rather hoping he would be here for supper. Did he say he would be coming around tomorrow?”

Fili shrugged as he went back to his book. “No, he didn’t say but you know he will. He might be taking advantage of his thousandth cowardly escape to start planning for when we head off. Told me about that earlier,” he said, thankfully keeping his voice down. “Actually, I’m sure that’s what he’s doing. He’ll be around tomorrow, Bilbo.”

The hobbit glanced at the fireplace, still tapping his foot, his nose twitching. He would not be able to relax and sleep (again because of Thorin Oakenshield) that night with it weighing on his mind. He couldn’t help but think a bit bitterly that he had better timing with his apologies before he shook himself of those thoughts. Not the time or the place and it would likely sour his apology and have him acting like a fauntling again.

“Right,” he whispered to himself before he cleared his throat loudly enough to draw attention. “Right. Er, I’m going for a… walk. A quick jaunt. Get some fresh air, you know.” He did kick Fili this time. “My boy, if I take longer than an hour, I fully expect you to be sound asleep in your bed when I get back.”

Folco wrinkled his nose at him as he played a tile game with his cousin. “Only if someone reads me a story,” he said, as if it were the most obvious and fair order he could make. “Then I don’t mind.”

Bilbo snorted. “I’m sure someone in this room won’t mind reading you a story but because of that attitude, it’ll be a very boring one indeed,” he said, pointing his finger at his son. “Don’t give these lads too much trouble, hmm?”

He made a quick stop at his fauntling’s side and gave him a kiss on his forehead, receiving a grumbled protest in return for his efforts, knowing he was likely in a brooding mood given Thorin had disappeared and now wasn’t there for the evening like he had been the last week. And that one was probably brooding too, Yavanna save him. He received a grunted goodbye from Dwalin as the dwarf rested his eyes in his armchair, feet up on the table in front of him. Bilbo had other things to attend to however and not the time to scold him.

The hobbit walked to his smial door, grabbing his coat and pulling it on before he nipped a lantern to at least see his way and not take a tumble in the dirt like Folco had done. He began his trek down Bagshot Row, saying good night to his fellow hobbit that happened to be outside. Though two stopped him and instead of complaining about the war the Shire had gone through they expressed joy in having such good sitters visiting them, which raised his hackles quite a bit. What on earth was happening to Hobbiton? If only they could be so accepting of their own blasted kin.

Bilbo trudged around the Bywater and ignored the part of him that felt a bit of sympathy that Thorin and Dwalin were making this trip every day. Then again, they were dwarves and he was terribly out of shape. Perhaps he needed to do this daily himself given he was about to be on the Road for likely near two months.

It wasn’t long before he heard The Green Dragon and then saw its familiar door lit up by lanterns, the windows surrounding the place warm and inviting, quickening his pace because he needed an ale at this point. He did not wander inside huffing and puffing and red in the face, thank you. Bilbo greeted his fellow hobbits who were in their cups, a dwarf littered throughout them here and there. From his understanding, they weren’t as stingy as the lot he had ventured with and the innkeeper was more than happy to house them.

He asked after Thorin and was told ‘the king is in his rooms’ in a rather dramatic fashion and found himself already begging for patience. The hobbit made sure he had two ales in hand as he was pointed in the right direction, the noise of merriment dying down behind him as he sought out the blasted dwarf’s room. He eyed the light from under the door when he found it before he used his heel to knock against it.

“Thorin, you had best be in there, please open the door,” he called and was slightly amused when he heard the scrape of a chair. Thorin was at the door near instantly and frowning in confusion at Bilbo when he opened it, dressed much the same as earlier that day. “Here, take one of these. Goodness, are we attending a funeral? Why are you looking so morose?”

Thorin sighed, not at all amused, as he allowed the hobbit into his rooms, taking an ale from him. “I’ve been speaking with my guard for the last few hours. Never a pleasant task,” he informed him and Bilbo ignored the strange gaze he was receiving.

“Ah, is that why you’ve come and hidden yourself away? I was rather hoping you’d at least come say goodnight to your son; he wasn’t exactly happy that you weren’t there. Oh for _goodness_ sake, I’m not trying to make you feel guilty! I’m being selfish because he can be most unpleasant before bed if he hasn’t gotten his way and I’ve fled too. He’ll nod off without issue,” he huffed, scowling at the king when he began to get that pinched look about him. He wandered to the table Thorin had been sitting at, pushing a few papers aside to set his mug down, making himself comfortable.

“I meant to speak with him on my way here but he seemed rather busy fighting in a large battle and I did not want to distract from that,” the dwarf said as he sat heavily down in his own chair. “I also did not expect this to take as long as it did, I would have rather been at your table tonight.”

Bilbo looked over his numerous papers with distaste. “Yes, I suppose I can’t blame you for that, though I think a king joining the war might’ve been welcome,” he muttered. And Kili thought he might be good at a dwarven council, which involved all of that hogwash. “Either way, I came here to apologize for my behavior earlier today. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. But you were annoying me.”

Thorin blinked at him before he gave a huff of a laugh, running one of his big paws over his face and arching a brow at the hobbit. “I am sorry for that,” he murmured because he wished to be annoying. “You need not apologize, Bilbo. I have found myself low on patience in the past and short with others.”

Bilbo laughed in disbelief at the ridiculous grin the king was beginning to wear, shaking his head at him. “I think I may have been on the receiving end of that once or twice,” he said, lifting his mug toward the dwarf, who wasted no time knocking his own against it. “We’re moving to Erebor, by the by.”

The choke on ale was most certainly deserved in the hobbit’s mind and he watched with interest as Thorin’s eyes watered from it. “What?” he rasped out. “Do- you are?”

He groaned, rolling his eyes as he took his own drink of ale, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand when he was finished. “You heard me, you goat. Yes, we are. Your son made his decision today. Or at least repeated it in a manner I couldn’t brush off. Gave me a slew of reasons why he wanted to and I told you, didn’t I? It’s his decision. So, in three weeks time - Eru save us all - we’ll be coming along with you. I hope you have room in that Mountain for the both of us.”

Thorin stared at him. It wasn’t until the hobbit raised his eyebrows to his hairline that he started, opening his mouth and closing it again with a click, looking entirely uncertain and rather young for it. Bilbo was near to taking pity on him when he suddenly stood from his chair and goodness - he was going to grovel again. The king moved around and knelt down on one knee in front of him, wide blue eyes on his own and the hobbit felt his heart rate increasing because they were wet _._

“Do you mean this? _Bilbo_ ,” Thorin said, voice hushed and breaking. “I cannot think of adequate enough words for it. I did not dare wish for it but I still despaired at the thought of you not joining us. To think of parting from you and our son, I could hardly bear it. Every day with you is a blessing and I consider myself far beyond lucky to have as much.” The king looked so very sincere, eyebrows lifted the slightest bit and with the threat of a lopsided smile given the upturn of the left corner of his mouth. “I know not how to thank you.”

The hobbit felt his nose twitch as he watched the blue eyes that he had been looking into for the last five years shine, the tears that were threatening to spill looking golden in the light of the lanterns in the room. Thorin was entirely beautiful and it hurt, a familiar ache in his chest blossoming painfully as a lump gathered in his throat.

“Yes, well,” he managed to croak out and harrumphed for it. “You are very much lucky indeed and I hope you continue to count your blessings. I’m doing this for Folco, you know, but I will be glad to look upon Erebor once again myself, I have to admit. I do miss it and I’m eager to see how far along it’s come. I’ve heard nothing but praises.”

Thorin let his grin free this time. “You will be impressed, I know that much,” he said quietly and reached his hand out, hovering above Bilbo’s knee. The hobbit gave a hard swallow before he took it, squeezing when his dwarf did, finding himself unable to look away from him, much as he wanted to.

Bilbo sniffed, shaking his head and huffing. “I’m not as easily impressed these days so it best be spectacular,” he warned, squinting at the king before he grabbed his ale with his free hand and took a much needed gulp of it. “Thorin, I do need you to promise me something and I think you know what that might be.” He received an inclination of the dwarf’s head in response.

“I need to know that I’m not going to be packing up everything in hopes that our son and I will have a permanent home in Erebor only to one day be forced back to the Shire with heartbreak. You know I cannot do that again and I _won’t_ do it to him. Is that something you can swear will not happen?”

“Yes,” was his immediate answer. “I swear it, Bilbo. I will not see you parted from home once again, I could never. You will find happiness and peace in Erebor; this I can promise you. No force in this world will see that undone.” Thorin pulled their hands, still locked together, against his chest and over his heart. The hobbit eyed him still, pursing his lips tight and begging for that to be true.

He nodded at the king. “Thank you,” he said soberly, squeezing Thorin’s hand once more. “As much as I don’t want to, I do trust you, Thorin. I wouldn’t be coming along if I didn’t, certainly not with Folco. You will still have to prove yourself to me over time, however, and that your word holds water. You have a long way to go yet after what you’ve put me through! And maybe you can start to earn the respect of the Company back as well. No more running, do you understand me?”

Thorin ducked his head for a short moment and when he lifted it back up, he was smiling so sweetly the pain in Bilbo’s chest increased tenfold. “I do,” he replied. “I will not run again and I will prove that to you. Though with you in the Mountain I fear I will never be able to make a fool of myself again.”

The hobbit managed a snort. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll do that plenty, I’ll just be around to make sure you stop at some point. One of us needs to have some sense and I won’t find that in the line of Durin, no indeed,” he said, waving his finger at him. “Fools, the lot of you, and you’ve made a fool of me far too many times as well. Since the day I met you, really! I still don’t know what spell Gandalf used on me that caused me to follow you lot. He refuses to say when I ask.”

The king chuckled, shaking his head and tightening his hold on Bilbo’s hand. “The wizard likes to keep his secrets,” he agreed and the hobbit found his breath catching when the blasted dwarf leaned down and kissed his knuckles. “Nothing went as we planned it but I am glad everyday you came with us, Bilbo, spell cast on you or not.”

And Bilbo didn’t know how to respond to that because Thorin had spoken the words against his hand, his breath warm and familiar. When blue eyes lifted back to his own, a squeak entirely unbidden left his throat and he bit down on his tongue as punishment. Apparently the king was capable of still causing the same feelings that had gotten them into this whole mess. He swallowed, scolding himself for the butterflies in his stomach and the tingles running through his fingertips and toes.

“Er. Yes. I mean. I am, as well? Well, of course I am, despite all the awfulness I did get a few nice memories out of it. Don’t particularly remember when I agreed to bring a troll home with me, though! I certainly didn’t sign _that_ contract,” Bilbo rambled, waving his free hand through the air. “But a troll I have on my hands. Slightly better behaved than any named Tom, Bert, or Bill were, make no mistake. But only slightly. Though very capable of producing as much mucus I’m sad to say, nasty business. Oh, shush.” He scowled at Thorin as the king began to smile in amusement up at him with a quirked brow, perfectly familiar with his nervous babbling.

Thorin didn’t bother holding in a chuckle at his expense. “I know not what you mean. I have never met a more well behaved child,” he teased before he finally pushed himself to his feet. Though he still had a hold on the hobbit’s hand. “Hardly reminiscent of a troll. I would say you are lucky, Master Baggins, that he is nothing like my nephews were. Troll would be putting it mildly.”

Bilbo huffed a laugh at that. “Well. I can certainly see that in their case but you, Master Oakenshield, haven’t seen him on his worst days. And do you know what?” he asked, raising his eyebrows as he used the dwarf’s hand to help haul himself out of the chair. “I believe you may just get a very good idea of what I mean when we’re on our way to that rock of yours. You can apologize to us all when you see what it’s like being on the wrong side of _you_ after a few rounds with him. Terribly unpleasant.”

He gave Thorin’s hand one more brief squeeze before he let it go to turn and grab his ale (a perfectly valid excuse), taking a gulp of it. The king moved alongside him and grabbed his own mug, giving a heavy, put on sigh of disappointment.

“I feel offended on both his and my own behalf,” he began in mock indignation, “as he reminds me very strongly of _you_. If he were to be on my level of unpleasantness it would be because I taught him how. No one could dare hope to reach me without my aid.”

Bilbo raised his eyebrows at that in consideration before he let out a gusty sigh. “Fair point,” he conceded. “You are the master of your craft, Thorin, I don’t know how I could have possibly thought otherwise. But luck is on our side as he most definitely doesn’t need any mentors at the moment. Perhaps you can teach him the ways of your other talents. Sulking. _Brooding_. Getting lost, that’s an important one.”

Thorin genuinely sighed at that, pinching the bridge of his nose as the hobbit snickered. “I will never be rid of it. If the wizard had told me the top of the hill I would have never found myself in this position,” he mumbled, glaring when Bilbo only laughed all the more. “Bah, I know not why I try. That was the only time I lost my way and yet it still haunts me.”

He dug his elbow into the hobbit’s arm and Bilbo stuck his tongue out at him. “You do have to admit that it probably didn’t help inspire confidence in you on my part. Wasn’t just the dragon that had me worried about the success of the quest,” he commented with an easy shrug. “But I think my deciding to run off with you anyway falls into the fools of the line of Durin making a fool out of me as well department, hmm? Many ill-advised routes were chosen in those few hours.”

The king huffed, side-eyeing him before he busied himself with finishing his ale, apparently deciding to ignore all of his bait. Bilbo ‘mhmm’d’ lightly and mockingly, grinning up at Thorin as he rolled his eyes in return.

“Well! I best be off to make sure the rascal is sleeping by the time I get home or I’ll be having words with your dwarves,” the hobbit said, waggling his finger before he finished his own mug off, leaving it on the table after. He waved at the king to follow him as he turned and walked back to the door. “What time can we expect you tomorrow?”

Thorin followed him until Bilbo stepped into the hall and he leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Perhaps after your second breakfast,” he mused. “I should like to finish my work tonight but I doubt I’ll be able to. If I manage, perhaps earlier than that, if you do not mind. Shall I be expecting the Captain of my guard, who chose supper over his duties, to return before daybreak?”

The hobbit laughed, looping his thumbs in the pockets of his coat, shrugging a shoulder. “Maybe? He looked rather comfortable when I left so don’t be surprised if you don’t see him until after that,” he said with a smile. It was returned with such earnest fondness he was tempted to grab the king’s hand and drag him back into his rooms, but… well. No. He simply could not and would not. It was a terrible idea indeed!

“Very well. And you will be alright on your journey back to Bag End?” Thorin asked, dipping his head to give him his ‘serious look.’ Bilbo rolled his eyes.

“It’s the _Shire_ , Thorin, I believe I don’t have anything but hobbits in their cups to worry about, thank you,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “We shall see you in the morning then, hmm? Good night.” He didn’t get very far down the hall before he heard the dwarf shuffle against the doorframe behind him and clear his throat. The hobbit glanced over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows.

“Bilbo?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” Thorin murmured very quietly, just enough for him to hear it. “For all of it.”

Bilbo coughed into his fist before he straightened his coat out. “Well. You’re welcome. I, um, er… hmm. Yes, you’re welcome. And thank you for, ah, working at it all. Truly,” he returned. His attempt at a smile felt more akin to a nose twitch. “Good night, Thorin.”

The king was more successful in his own smile, a small and content thing. “Good night, Bilbo,” he said with an inclination of his head. The hobbit, knowing it was highly likely he would have eyes on him until he left the hall, turned and ventured quickly down along it. He wasn’t going to get caught up in Thorin’s gaze once more that night, not with what it was doing to him. He simply could not risk it.

Bilbo Baggins had plenty to think about and do, such as packing up his entire life and dragging it across Middle Earth; he did not need to add Thorin more into the mix than he already was, thank you very much.

——

The hobbit learned that three weeks time could go by both agonizingly slow and distressingly fast. Apparently being given time to actually prepare for a trip was far more horrifying than only having a few minutes.

Then again, he was packing more than half of his smial. Most of the three weeks were spent picking through and choosing what could go and what could stay. Bilbo didn’t realize how much _stuff_ his son had until the fauntling attempted to have him pack all of it. And what a headache that had been, arguing with a five year old on what possessions he really did not need to bring to the Mountain. He was entirely happy to have the help of multiple dwarves, however, and the more work he gave them, the happier they seemed.

Due to being king and all, Thorin was only helpful to a certain extent - the stresses he himself was going through planning the caravan back to Erebor made him turn into his usual moody self more often than not. And it was entirely possible that Bilbo, being moody during the whole thing as well, was as short-tempered as the king. Fili had informed the hobbit it was like watching an elderly married couple when they inevitably argued over some ridiculous nonsense. Snide remarks, heavy sarcasm, and petty passive aggressiveness that would make any hobbit proud.

But then it was done. The smial was packed and two large carriages had been stuffed full the day before they were supposed to leave. Did that guarantee a solid, gratifying night of sleep? No, of course it did not and Bilbo was most upset about it. He stalked around his home in the early morning hours and only stopped when Folco joined him. The lad woke much earlier than normal and much to the hobbit’s dismay, it was out of adrenaline and pure excitement. He apparently didn’t want to wallow in misery with his father.

It was barely dawn when dwarves arrived with two bay draft horses that would lead the carriages, making quick work of getting them set for the journey before they were off again. Bilbo refused to let Folco anywhere near the beasts - they would smash them both flat. Thankfully he only had to distract him for a short time because Thorin and his nephews arrived, dressed in mail and travel clothing. They moved into Bag End and swept the smial over one last time, the dwarves with just as much care as Bilbo and his son.

Bilbo was going to keep the hobbit-hole in his name, naturally, and it would remain that way until he wrote the Thain, whenever that might be. He had written numerous letters, stating in each and every one that Bag End would remain his indefinitely, thank you, and that they were to keep their sticky paws off. A new will had been drafted and witnessed, filed and recorded with the Thain. Any loop holes were swiftly patched up - see if Lobelia Sackville-Baggins could find her way through now.

When Bag End had been thoroughly examined once more, Bilbo found himself stepping out of the smial and closing his green door behind him, knowing it would be the last time for a very, very long while. The finality of it didn’t bother him nearly as much as he suspected it might; in fact, he was really just ready for second breakfast and a good long nap in the carriage he had been gifted. Perhaps that had something to do with the fauntling that would be traveling with him but he looked at it as a blessed gift for himself either way.

That was where he found himself now, standing at the bottom of his stone steps and gazing up at his door, hand-in-hand with Folco, who was doing much the same. Thorin was waiting for them by the carriage and while Bilbo felt his eyes on the pair of them, he was glad he had enough sense to let them at least say goodbye by themselves.

“Well, my boy,” Bilbo said, letting out a long, gusty sigh as he looked down at the fauntling. “What do you say? Are you ready to go? Ready to get all this business on the Road and head off for Erebor?”

Folco gave a great big nod of his head before he swiveled it up and smiled painfully wide at his father, beaming as bright as the sun. “Mhmm! I’m ready, Papa,” he declared, swinging their hands between them with no small amount of gusto. “What about you, Papa? Are you ready?”

Bilbo raised his eyebrows and looked back to Bag End. “Well. You know, I think I am,” he said with a smile of his own. “Yes indeed, my boy, I’m ready. I think I can handle another adventure.” He squeezed his son’s hand before he led him out of the garden and through their white gate one last time.

They joined Thorin in their carriage and it wasn’t until they were beyond view of the hobbit-hole that Bilbo realized not one of them had looked back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you all remember in A Bug's Life when the kids reenact the battle they thought the 'heroes' had gone through? That's all I could picture when writing this.
> 
> Moving things along a bit. And I will never write a hobbit fic without mentioning Thorin's ability to get lost. Cough. Anyone want to take a guess at who might be showing their face next chapter? Thanks for reading! :)
> 
> [My tumblr if you feel like chattin'!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is now an amazing piece of art for a scene at the end of this chapter! Look at the end notes to check it out!!

Bilbo Baggins was certain he had made a terrible mistake. He had made many of those, yes, but this was beginning to feel as if it were the biggest mistake of his life.

After just over a month on the Road and as the caravan finally left the Misty Mountains, he was quite ready for all of the traveling hogwash to be done and over with. And to think, it had been so wonderfully peaceful at the start.

The journey from the Shire to Rivendell was rather painless. The summer made for pleasant travel and the tail end of all blooms were still present; flowers from fields, shrubs, trees, and the wild littered the path as they ventured along it. It smelled and looked wonderful and lasted nearly until they reached the elven city itself. They were greeted there with much fondness and to Bilbo’s great surprise, Thorin was polite and thanked Lord Elrond for his assistance with his then unborn son and the hobbit himself. He even managed to keep up his manners for the week they stayed, only glowering when Elrohir, Elladan, Fili, and Kili put aside their differences and with the fauntling’s help, wreaked havoc. When the king sought out Bilbo’s aid, he received absolutely none whatsoever - they are all children and let them have some fun, please and thank you.

Lord Elrond himself didn’t seem to mind either and simply busied himself with asking Bilbo about his child, how life was in the Shire, and what on earth he was doing traveling to Erebor with Thorin Oakenshield once more. After a lengthy explanation to increasingly raised eyebrows, Elrond seemed to accept that the king had found his humility and expressed his thankfulness for such a thing - though he did seem to keep a critical eye on the dwarf still. The hobbit took advantage of his son’s complete delight in Rivendell to plant himself in the library for most of the day, reading and conversing with old friends when they visited. Thorin and his dwarves mostly stuck to the same house they had been given on their last stay, though now and then the Bilbo caught them wandering about, curious and skeptical all at once.

But, sadly, the week ended and after being well stocked up on supplies thanks to Lord Elrond, they left Rivendell and set off.

It all went sour once they entered the Mountains, even if it was still on the Great East Road, a guaranteed safer travel than what the Company had chosen the first time through. It was a straight shot through and when they finally emerged, they would be following the same Road until they would cross the Old Ford; then they would follow the Great River north until they reached the Forest Path of Mirkwood. It sounded simple - it was anything but.

Oh, the Road was still safe, yes, and they hadn’t run into much trouble through the Misty Mountains. A pack of wolves crossed them but not one droplet of blood had to be shed, thank Eru.

No, there was just one thing causing the journey to be miserable: Folco.

Folco was, for lack of a better term, a monster. Bilbo was entirely unsure where his son had gone and what creature had replaced him. Hints of trolls, Gollum, and orcs were noticeable at times; the worst of Thorin could be found now and then as well. His ill mood was understandable when they had entered the Mountains as he had never seen such things before and they were rather frightening upon first glance. But his sourness didn’t abate, it only increased the further they went and became less fearful and more terrifying.

The hobbit was near his wits’ end when they finally emerged into the bright world, into long valleys and it didn’t get better. He understood, oh he understood, but it didn’t make it any easier to deal with. Folco was scared, bored, and lonely. After so much time on the Road, he was restless and yearning for a permanent home, which Bilbo strongly empathized with. He had no children to play with and given the distance they traveled each day, he was mostly stuck in the carriage or sharing a saddle with someone. Cousins and fathers could only do so much.

When he began to first turn into this creature, a quick pass to one of his cousins or Thorin would soothe him for most of the day. Fili and Kili were more than happy to entertain their cousin, retelling parts of the Quest with actual examples of the different landscapes they had traveled through, rousing the boy. Eventually that stopped working and after being grumped at by a fauntling (which put the brothers out quite a bit) they finally decided silent support was what he needed. That helped ease the worst of the tension and Folco would simply sit and stare glumly around, slumped into the chest of one of his cousins.

Or Thorin. And Bilbo was about at his wits’ end with that dwarf as well. He was near unbearable when it came to their son; at first the hobbit had understood his concern - he hadn’t seen the boy for his first five years and wasn’t familiar with the height of his bad moods. But goodness, one would think after weeks of it he would get used to it - apparently not.

The king became distressed whenever his son would begin to cry and he couldn’t find a way to fix it immediately. He would give Bilbo a _look_ , begging him to apparently become a wizard and put the boy into a permanent state of bliss. It earned him a scathing glare every time and an armful of fauntling for himself.

Folco did seem to do best with Thorin (perhaps because of his kingly status) when the dwarf wasn’t causing his stress to increase with his own fretting; he quieted down once he was settled into the saddle in front of his father and a strong arm was braced around him. It didn’t make him any happier of course, only silent and with an expression so similar to Thorin’s brooding one it was comical.

Bilbo could admit that when their son had taken to demanding being wrapped up in the king’s coat when he was riding with him, leaving only a grumpy face and honey curls visible, it was a rather darling sight. After being charmed by it, he would immediately escape inside the carriage and take a much needed nap. It went on like this for another day and a half before they reached the Old Ford.

Once they crossed the Great River and made a somewhat early camp within sight of it, Bilbo had an idea to perhaps distract Folco and see if it might raise his spirits before they began the trek north to the Forest Path that was roughly sixty miles ahead. Then it was into Mirkwood.

As the best of the cooks from the guard got fires going and began to prepare supper, the hobbit hunted Thorin down, leaving their son in his cousins’ care. He found the dwarf conversing with Dwalin and when he approached, the big brute clapped his friend’s shoulder and took his leave. The king looked at Bilbo and arched a brow.

“Have you made another escape?” he asked, a hint of mirth in his voice that made the hobbit roll his eyes.

“No. Well. I suppose in a way but I mostly wanted to speak to you in private for a mo’ if you have it,” he said, crossing his arms firmly over his chest and tapping his foot on the ground. Thorin chuckled in response, clamping a hand down on his shoulder.

“I do, Bilbo. Speak your mind freely,” he stated with an inclination of his head before he crossed his own arms, a small smile playing at his lips.

Bilbo nodded once, taking in a long, deep breath and holding it before he finally let it out in a heavy sigh. “Well. I, ah, suspect you know that we are just under twenty miles from a certain home,” he ventured, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. Predictably, any warmth fell away from the dwarf’s face, his mouth twisting into a frown. “It’s hardly my fault you didn’t make the best of impressions last time. At least he was willing to help you out. But! I think that maybe a quick jaunt there and a day of rest, if he’ll allow it, might do our boy some good. A figure from the stories he knows so well and the opportunity to meet him. And a rather beautiful sight, what with his garden and his numerous animals. I think Folco might find some peace there which might do us all some good before we enter Mirkwood.”

Thorin watched him intensely as he spoke, eyes stuck on his without wavering, before he dipped his head and gave him that _look_ from under his brow. “He may not be as welcoming to us as he was last time,” he said quietly, cautiously. “I would not wish to put our son in harm’s way.”

The hobbit cleared his throat, looping his thumbs in his pocket and rocking back and forth on his heels. “Well, er- I _did_ stay there for two days with Gandalf on my way back to the Shire, you know. And, ah, hmm… he grew rather fond of me. And welcomed me to his home if I ever left the Shire again, which at the time I told him I certainly wouldn’t. Even gave me two absurdly large jars of honey. I think for my sake he may put up with a large amount of dwarves again,” he said before he pursed his lips tight, raising his eyebrows to his hairline innocently.

The king raised his own brow at that, sweeping his gaze up and down along Bilbo before he gave a grunt of consideration. “If you are certain of both Folco’s and our own safety, Bilbo, then I see not why we cannot try. I would be glad to see him get some rest with the comforts of a home. We will not find that again until Mirkwood,” he said, finishing with distaste.   
  
Bilbo rolled his eyes. “I have complete confidence that we’ll be gladly welcomed in Thranduil’s halls, thank you. I should like to, er, thank him for all his assistance,” the hobbit muttered moodily. He fully intended on doing that as well as giving him a piece of his mind. “We can avoid staying in Dale that way and simply head for Erebor when we leave. Thank you, Thorin, for not being a complete stubborn clothead.”

Thorin snorted, shaking his head. “As always, it is my pleasure,” he said with a huff of sigh. “I know this journey has been trying for us all. Especially yourself and I will do what I can to find you some peace as well.” The hobbit was a little surprised when the king rested his hand once more on his shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze and wearing an expression of such fondness for him. Well. Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised.

He gave Thorin a quick smile, resting his hands on his hips and looking back at the camp. Bilbo raised his eyebrows as he noticed Folco pointing expectantly at a starting fire Kili was adding kindling to, apparently telling him just the right way to do it, while his cousin hastened to listen. The hobbit cleared his throat and looked up at the king, who was also watching the scene with some sympathy.

“Ah, well. As they say. It’s your turn,” Bilbo said, reaching up and patting Thorin’s hand. Before he could hear any protests, he made a hasty retreat and headed for the river bank, inspecting their outermost surroundings with a keen interest.

——

Next midday saw them approaching Beorn’s great wooden house, which was visible far earlier than it had been before, given they were heading north and not south from the Carrock this time. Thank goodness as Bilbo had no desire to be close to that rock again - it held a few distressing memories, the only good being Thorin deciding not to loathe his very being anymore. Part of him thought that actually belonged in the distressing department as well, however.

The caravan stopped a half mile out and began to discuss the best way to go about approaching the home. Bilbo had to raise his voice quite loudly and inform them he would do it himself, thank you very much, you bunch of cowards. Thorin insisted on he himself accompanying him, along with Dwalin and Nori, given they would at least be familiar faces. The hobbit could count on both hands the number of reasons why that was not a good idea at all but the king glowered at him and he set off with the dwarves, grumbling all the way.

They did not make it far before Bilbo noticed something moving with great speed their way and only just managed to convince his companions from brandishing weapons when he saw the familiar black and white sheen of a pony. As much as the hobbit was not a fan of riding, the stallion was a wonderful sight and he hurried forward to meet it. The regal being slowed to a trot before it came to an abrupt stop in front of him, tossing its head, the sunlight catching the white of his mane and making him look all the more beautiful for it.

It seemed to scrutinize them all for a good long moment before it nosed Bilbo’s stomach with so much force he nearly toppled over - and then it was off.

“What in Mahal’s name was that all about?” Nori asked as the hobbit straightened himself out. “You’d think they would have bolted after we last graced them with our presence.”

Bilbo sniffed. “They are far more intelligent than you lot ever gave them credit for. He’s gone to inform Beorn of our impending visit. All of his animals are most loyal, you know. That’s what happens when you treat them with respect,” he said loftily as he began to march forward again.

Dwalin snorted from behind him. “Oh, aye, you’ve always been respectful toward the ponies of our past yourself,” he said sarcastically. “And the rams, the boars, the _chickens_ …” The hobbit didn’t need to look at him to know he was listing them off with his fat fingers.

“Excuse me, we agreed to never speak of the chickens again and so I ask you to please kindly shut your mouth. And I became very fond of the ponies after that whole troll business!” Bilbo said indignantly, waving his finger back toward the dwarf from over his shoulder, gamely ignoring Thorin’s amused grunt. “The others simply held grudges against me and I never did figure out why! I blame the fact that they were raised by dwarves. The animals in and around Beorn’s home are very fond of me indeed.”

Bilbo ignored the muttered doubts behind him as they trudged closer to the skin-changer’s home. When the hobbit could begin to make out wooden tables, chairs, and piles of firewood, the door leading into the back garden opened and revealed a hulking figure. The hobbit and the dwarves behind him froze as they watched Beorn spot them - he immediately began striding forward and Bilbo wondered how in Eru’s name he had forgotten the size of him. He shuffled a few steps forward and raised his arm, waving awkwardly above his head.

“Er… hello, Mister Beorn! It’s, ah, Bilbo- oh. Oh no, no, no, no!” he cried as a toothy grin broke out beneath a massive amount of dark hair and Beorn descended upon him, plucking him straight off the ground. Bilbo groaned, both in mortification and some small amount of pain as he was embraced - tightly. “Oh for- put me down this instant, you blasted menace, we’ve spoken about this!”

“Oho! I did not believe to see the little bunny again so soon!” Beorn rumbled happily, putting the hobbit down and stilling him with a massive paw before he could fall over. “And with much more meat on you this time I am pleased to see! You didn’t allow me enough time to fatten you up on your last visit.”

Bilbo buried his boiling hot face in his hands, whining in distress before he looked back up at the bear of a man, waggling his finger at him. “It’s Bilbo, as you well know! I am very happy to see you but that won’t continue with that other nonsense,” he scolded grumpily, straightening his rumpled clothing out before he turned to look at his dwarves. He wrinkled his nose as he saw them gaping at him with no small amount of confusion and bother it all, humor. “Yes, well. Beorn, I’m sure you remember this lot.”

He was feeling a mite too embarrassed and petty, knowing the teasing he would receive, to introduce them as he knew was polite. The hobbit crossed his arms and sent Thorin a seething glare, daring him to make one comment on it all. The dwarf pretended he didn’t see him, instead raising his eyes to the skin-changer.

“Master Beorn,” he greeted with an inclination of his head. “My Company, as you met us before-"

“Yes, Dwalin and Nori, if I recall and I still don’t need any service,” Beorn interrupted, sweeping his gaze up and down along the king, any good humor melting away. He spared a glance at the other two he somehow remembered before he looked back to the dwarf. “Oakenshield. I never thought I would lay my eyes upon you once more in this life but I think it’s more surprising that you’ve accompanied the hobbit to my home again. And what has you venturing so far East?” He turned deep brown eyes on Bilbo again, who cleared his throat.

“Er, well. That is quite the long story, you know, ah, I’m sure you’d enjoy hearing it. Actually I’m entirely sure you would,” he muttered, sighing. He should have expected Beorn to not be as welcoming toward Thorin given what he knew had occurred between them. “But I’m headed off to Erebor once again. Bit more permanently this time.”

Beorn raised a bushy, critical eyebrow at him, inspecting him for such a long moment that the hobbit began to squirm. “Permanently,” he repeated, glancing back at the king before he returned his gaze to the hobbit. “Well then. I suppose that means there must be a little one joining you but I find I don’t see one! Can I expect another traveling circus to pile in two at a time again? Are there more than fifteen of you wandering somewhere?”

Bilbo blushed, resting his hands on his hips and rocking back on one heel. “Well. Yes, actually. But we don’t expect you to house us! I thought we may take the day to, ah, recoup? The past two weeks have been a might miserable and your home and its surroundings are indeed very beautiful. My son- er, our son, has been a bit down since the Mountains and if it isn’t too terribly much to ask, I was wondering if we might be able to give him some sight other than, you know, mountains and valleys and our own faces?” he ventured, clearing his throat, gesturing between Thorin and himself. “If-If you wouldn’t mind?”

The skin-changer looked so unimpressed that Bilbo was tempted to just march right by him, enter his home, sit at his table and eat as much bread and honey as he wanted. It would be impolite to not ask! Especially considering he had many more companions this time and not just one cranky secret-spilling wizard.

“If I wouldn’t _mind_. I should very much like to meet your son! Go on then, go! Go and bring the rest of your dwarves here. A fair warning: if they do not respect my home, the animals that make this their home, and my garden, their day will not end well,” Beorn said, sending a narrow-eyed look between the three dwarves. “The little bunny and I have things to speak about - and I have a tale I must hear! Come along, Bilbo, join me at my table and tell me of how you came to be here again!”

The skin-changer turned his eyes back on Bilbo and the hobbit sighed, hunching his shoulders. “Yes, alright,” he mumbled, turning to Thorin. The dwarf looked more than a bit stormy at the idea of leaving him behind despite their obvious ease and the fact that he knew they were friends. “Thorin, please. Go round everyone up and bring Folco along. We’ll come meet you outside when you’ve got everything settled and calm, yes? I’ll be fine. Shoo.” He waved his hands at the king, who looked none too pleased about it.

Thorin stared from under his heavy brow at Beorn before he slid steely blue eyes back toward Bilbo. “Very well,” he finally said, voice carefully neutral. There was no hiding his annoyance, though, and the hobbit rolled his eyes, grumbling as he turned and began to trudge toward the familiar house without another word. The dwarf could keep his paranoia to himself.

Beorn was at his side instantly and walking leisurely so the hobbit didn’t have to sprint to keep up with him. Thankfully he didn’t immediately start questioning Bilbo - they walked through his back garden, passed where they had first met, and finally ventured into the vast home. It looked much the same as when the hobbit had seen it last, a roaring fireplace in the middle of the room and the same veranda that faced south - it was there that the skin-changer led him. The hobbit clambered onto a wooden bench, mumbling at the familiar swinging of his legs, given they could only reach the ground if he toppled from his seat.

He did perk up, however, when Beorn laid down a plate of honey cakes and a generous jar of the golden stuff along with it. Bilbo immediately set about grabbing himself one and munching on it, pretending he didn’t hear the skin-changer chuckling as he sat across from him. When he looked at the massive amount of flowers outside of the veranda, he felt quite a lot of his frustrations seeping away, breathing in their fresh scent, letting it calm his nerves. Though he did side-eye Beorn when he felt eyes on him - eyes that looked entirely expectant.

Bilbo sighed. “Yes. Well. Where shall I start then?” he asked, breaking off a piece of cake and stuffing it greedily into his mouth.

“At the beginning! Go on telling,” Beorn said with a grin just this side of cheeky, gesturing toward the hobbit.

“The beginning? Well, alright, I suppose so? I don’t remember my first days much but my mother said I was quite the looker even as a babe-"

“Bunny.”

“Yes, fine fine. Alright, well… when Gandalf and I left here, he found a horse from who-knows-where and we made it through the Mountains alright. Got to Rivendell and spent a good long while there, actually! Made friends with Lord Elrond and he gave me some much needed comfort and advice. Knew some about us hobbits, you know. I think I stayed there over a month? And Lord Elrond sent us off with a carriage and his two sons-"

“Good of the elf! You needed aid then as I imagine you were coming right along!”

“Yes indeed I was, thank you. Unpleasant business for the most part. So with their aid and Gandalf’s, we made it to the Shire. Not one thing went wrong and I wonder where that luck was on my way _to_ Erebor. I spent a long time patching up my reputation to the best of my ability and had a healthy babe. A boy, Folco-"

“A strong name! Is it a family name? A sharp memory I have but I could never wish to remember the names you spouted off last you were here.”

“Indeed! Now hush. A distantly related family name, I think. Everything was well and peaceful in my home for five years, if you can believe it. But my luck had to end at some point and one day, while I was finishing up gardening, I received a raven from Erebor. A raven that announced Thorin bloody Oakenshield would be at my door in a week. Gave me a fright as you can imagine. He was one of the last persons on Middle Earth I should have ever liked to see again but there was no stopping him when he was that close. Turns out he found out about his son and decided to storm from Erebor to the Shire to, well, apologize.”

“As he should have but I wonder how he came about knowing of his son? You said you wanted to keep him out of it and a good thing, that! How does a dwarf halfway across the world come by this knowledge?”

Bilbo scowled, pushing the rest of his honey cake into his mouth so he had an excuse to wait a moment. Sadly, when it came to him, Beorn had patience and simply stared. He swallowed, huffing. “That would be because someone I believed to be a friend betrayed me! A most terrible thing! How dare he spill hobbit secrets! And do you know where he did it? In a dwarven council, in front of King Thorin Oakenshield and other dwarf nobles! I still can’t believe him, I really can’t. But make no mistake, I will be giving him a piece of my mind and very soon now!” he declared, waggling his finger toward the skin-changer.

Beorn narrowed his eyes and harrumphed. “Who is ‘he'?” he demanded gruffly. “What sort of friend of yours would be at a dwarf council?”

The hobbit scrunched his nose up. “Well. A, er, well, you know. Do you remember how Gandalf and I came from Mirkwood? Ah, it’d be King Thranduil, who helped me and acted as my friend, that went to Thorin and ran his big fat mouth! If us hobbits had a great army, I would’ve declared him a traitor and gone to war with him!” he said, waving his arms through the air in his frustration. The skin-changer gave a very loud, booming laugh.

“And I would like to see such a thing! If your kin have as much spirit as you do you would be a dangerous foe to have,” he announced with such a grin that Bilbo’s eyes went skyward.

“I can agree with that but their spirits lie in spirits, so to speak,” the hobbit said, coughing into his fist. “Certainly not in adventure.”

“Too bad that,” Beorn said with what seemed like genuine upset. “So the elf king is the one who informed Oakenshield. How is it then, that you came to be traveling with him? He has not staked a claim, has he?”

“A _claim?_ ” Bilbo squeaked indignantly. “No! I would hardly let him! I am here of my own volition, thank you very much. I told you, he came to apologize! In fact, he groveled at my feet and cut off his own braid to ‘show his shame’ or some nonsense. Blasted dwarves. Thorin gave me quite the apology, though, and he’s been making recompense as well as he can. Which has actually been fairly well so far. But, ah, when our son learned of his father, there was no separating them. And so to Erebor we are going.”

Beorn crossed his bulging arms over his broad chest, fixing Bilbo with another ‘look', his intelligent brown eyes only making it all the more unsettling. “And what of you? This is what you want? For you and your son to live in the Mountain with the dwarf?” he asked, tone leaving no room for any amount of dishonesty. “Do you think it’s wise to do that?”

Bilbo sighed, dropping his arms onto the table in front of him, staring down at the shined wood before he raised his gaze back to the skin-changer. “Yes, actually. I do. I wanted very badly for Erebor to remain my home when- when it all first _happened_. And now my son and I _can_ make our home there. He’s very eager for it and I find that I am as well. Bit terrified too given we will be the only hobbits around and it’ll be common knowledge soon that Folco is the king’s son. That part terrifies me most but Thorin assures me he will be loved and protected by all,” he said, kicking his legs under his bench. “Suppose we’ll just have to wait and see.”

The skin-changer simply continued to stare at him and just when he was about to start complaining, Beorn’s eyes caught over Bilbo’s head, looking out across the southern garden. “Seems my visitors have come visiting. I will judge Oakenshield’s character for myself while you are here,” he announced, ignoring the hobbit’s whine of protest. “I still don’t like dwarves much and I saw nothing special in him. Only the greediness and arrogance that I see in all others; even after the Battle his pride and ignorance remained.”

“Well. It’s a good thing we’ll be having such a polite host,” Bilbo grumbled, wiggling to the edge of his seat and sliding off of it with a huff. “My boy is half dwarf, you know, and if you go insulting dwarves in front of him, you’ll receive my ire! And the ire of everyone else as well!”

The skin-changer laughed. “He has not been influenced by their greed if he has truly been with you for all his life! He is a bunny more than he is a dwarf,” he said, grinning when Bilbo scowled up at him. “Worry not. Children are innocents of this world and I enjoy their presence, as rare as it is here! Now let us go take a look at your boy!”

Bilbo ducked his attempt at patting him on the head as it would surely send him to the ground but Beorn laughed all the more for it. Pesky skin-changers. They walked down the veranda and its steps, which quickly morphed into healthy green grass, summer flower beds to their left and a vegetable garden to be proud of to their right. The hobbit found himself awed once more at the size of the fat pumpkins there before he realized they had quite reached the edge of the property. He started when he saw his group of dwarves marching toward them, the caravan spread out among the fields beyond Beorn’s lands, setting up camp.

The hobbit trotted toward Thorin but Folco was in Fili’s arms at the moment and he could see red cheeks and tear stains before he even got near. “For Eru’s sake,” he mumbled to himself before he came to a stop in front of them. Thorin was immediately upon him, hands on his shoulders, sweeping his gaze up and down along him, as if he may have been mauled by a bear whilst inside and not noticed. “Stop it! Goodness gracious, if you think we’re in any danger here then you are proving your continued streak of foolishness.” He slapped away the dwarf’s hands as Folco lifted his head from his cousin’s shoulder.

The fauntling sniffled, rubbing the back of his wrist over his nose. “Papa, are we really going to see the bear man?” he asked wetly. Bilbo chuckled, wondering how many times that question had been asked just since he set off from the caravan.

“We are, my boy, we are. In fact, I’ve just come from having some of his lovely honey cakes that I know you will appreciate quite a bit. Come and meet Mister Beorn and get something to munch on, hmm?” he suggested, raising his eyebrows and motioning behind himself. Folco began to squirm and Fili quickly deposited him on the ground, allowing the lad to run and cling to his leg. Bilbo sighed, brushing off his son’s cheeks. “Maybe we can get a hot bath while we’re here as well.”

For once, Folco was completely on board with that. He bobbed his head eagerly in agreement before he took Bilbo’s hand, looking at the large house just beyond. The hobbit was somewhat confused when he didn’t react to Beorn before he felt the boy jump at his side - perhaps he thought he was a tree upon first glance or some such thing. He wouldn’t doubt it at any rate.

Bilbo snorted and gently tugged him forward to where the skin-changer was waiting patiently for them. The hobbit thanked Eru that he wasn’t showing his big white grin but was rather smiling kindly at the fauntling, arms hanging loosely at his sides, knowing perfectly well how his appearance might be a tad off-putting. But he had a boy that was never intimidated by anyone at all!

Well. He thought he did.

Folco stared at Beorn with bulging eyes before he abruptly stopped as if he had grown roots in the ground and began to wail toward the sky, like a three year old. Bilbo blinked down at his son, startled so suddenly he laughed in surprise - it quickly turned into a coughing fit lest he estrange himself from the boy. He certainly heard a few dwarves snickering and not hiding their amusement very well themselves though.

“Oh goodness,” Bilbo mumbled, sliding in front of Folco and hiding the view behind him. “Folco, whatever is the matter? You know Mister Beorn from the stories and how he helped us all, hmm? Saved our lives and gave us those beautiful ponies, remember? There’s no need to be frightened, my boy, I promise you. He’s one of the Big Folk, that’s all. You are most safe here and Mister Beorn is very eager to meet you!” His attempts at reassurance apparently did not help as his boy simply continued to cry, red-faced and looking entirely angry for it.

Thorin swooped down next to his son, sliding an arm around the boy’s waist, the ever familiar lines of distress deepening on his own face. “ _Inùdoy._ You are very safe here, you need not worry so,” he said in such a low tone Bilbo felt a mite jealous. That voice would soothe most and he could have used it now and then himself. “Do you wish not to see Master Beorn?”

Bilbo dug his elbow into the dwarf’s side, earning a glare for it. He opened his mouth to begin to try and reassure the boy more but-

“Telling stories of me, little bunny?” Beorn asked, managing to keep the rumble minimal. The hobbit clamped his eyes shut tight as he heard a strangled noise from Kili and a quick guffaw from Fili before the dwarf covered his blasted mouth - bother it all _._ “I love a good tale and I am happy to be a part of one! You will have to tell it to me so I can see if it is true!”

The skin-changer clapped his hands and let out a low whistle, which the hobbit knew summoned animals and oh he could kill him, he really could. He whirled around to admonish Beorn but froze when he saw three familiar grey-bodied dogs, large and ever sleek, coats shining in the sun. They were bounding toward Beorn and once by his side, the great bear made those strange noises of his, telling them who-knew-what. The dogs quickly went into action either way, two trotting forward with dangerously wagging tails before they both promptly dropped onto the ground and began to roll around on their backs, tongues lolling for it. The third dog had torn off behind Beorn, disappearing around the corner of the house and into a thicket of shrubs.

Bilbo gaped at the dogs, not sure if he should still chastise the skin-changer because they were entirely too big for hobbits or if he should attempt to go along with it. Beorn himself simply sat down where he had been standing, spreading his long legs out and looking right as rain, not the least bit put out by a child that was terrified of him.

The hobbit was distracted enough that he didn’t notice his son had stopped wailing until he felt the boy clawing at his waistcoat, tugging himself closer so he could peer around him and get a better look at the mutts. Tears were still slipping down his cheeks as he eyed the situation and Bilbo glanced sidelong at Thorin. Thorin, who looked as if he were expecting the dogs to turn to orcs and attack them at any moment, apparently forgetting they set the blasted table for him when he was a guest before. Bilbo gave a harsh pinch to his elbow, glaring in warning, before waggling his finger under the dwarf’s nose. He received a glower in return and felt his hackles rising, perfectly ready to stare the king down if need be.

He didn’t need to. Fili and Kili strode forward, shoulders squared proud and with large grins plastered on their faces as they moved straight for the mutts. The brothers plopped down and began to roughhouse and pet, much to the apparent delight of the dogs, considering how they wiggled and snorted, limbs flailing every which way. Folco shifted to Bilbo’s other side so he could watch his cousins, a confused frown taking over his face as he rubbed his wet nose against his sleeve most impolitely, his eyebrows scrunching together. His eyes slid between the skin-changer and his mutts, trying to figure out if his cousins had the right of it so he did not have to be scared after all. The hobbit quickly began to pray to Yavanna for such a thing.

Bilbo turned more toward the princes, holding Folco close still for the comfort of it, but the boy didn’t seem to get anymore concerned. He continued to watch Fili and Kili, chewing on his lower lip before he began to tentatively move forward, his legs a bit wobbly. When Thorin reached out to grab the boy, the hobbit smacked his hand none too gently, making the dwarf hiss and snap his head toward him. They glared at each other once more before looking back at their son as he shuffled to Kili, who was closest to him. He grabbed at his shoulder, shaking it and staring with wide eyes at the dog his cousin was giving attention to.

“Are they nice?” he asked, his voice beginning to take on some eagerness. “Will they bite me?”

Fili shook his head. “No! Of course not. They love dwarves and hobbits, thanks to your papas. Look at how sweet they are! Come on, come pet this squirmer here,” he said cheerfully, holding his hand out to Folco. He moved without much hesitation, taking the hand and was pulled snug to Fili’s chest. The dog he had been giving his own attention to, still on his back, wiggled closer with snorts and loud, playful whining. Bilbo was entirely amazed just how much more intelligent they were than even he had known and he wondered if they even allowed petting very often.

When the dog got close enough, pawing at Folco, the boy gave a little smile as he reached down and scratched at its chin. The mutt stilled in its squirming, simply panting and looking entirely ridiculous with his tongue hanging over the corner of his mouth. The fauntling gave a giggle and the dog promptly shifted onto its side, pushing up its front half in what Bilbo could only deem a careful, gentle manner, nosing at his son’s hand. Folco gladly obliged and began to offer plenty of scratches to its chin and ears. The dog let that continue for only a short while before he moved forward and pressed his head against the boy’s chest, letting out its huffing grunts again before it began to slide its body against Folco’s front, covering the fauntling completely and earning happy squealing and giggling out of it.

The dwarves and hobbit altogether as one slumped down in relief, a groan or two escaping from them. The sound of a child’s laughter had never been sweeter than right then. Bilbo could only hope that his son didn't request a puppy now. Knowing Thorin, the dwarf would likely oblige the request and that simply would not do. The last thing he needed to worry about while getting used to Erebor was another addition to his family.

Bilbo stood straight, raking his hands roughly over his face before he finally looked at the dwarf by his side, brows raised expectantly. Thorin glanced sidelong at him before sighing, crossing his hands together, resting them on his belt as he watched his son and nephews both.

“He is small, Bilbo, and they are dogs fit for the skin-changer,” the king grumped. “I will worry yet and my nephews by his side will not help abate that. Distress can cause unease-"

“Then it’s no surprise he’s been terribly uneasy for the last two weeks, is it?” Bilbo snapped, huffing at him, ignoring the scowl he was now receiving. “I have a feeling those mutts could raise a child as well as we could at this point. If they can cook, serve meals, clean, and act as comfort for a little one, I’d say he’s perfectly safe with him. Beorn wouldn’t allow it otherwise. Now shush and behave.”

An indignant noise escaped Thorin’s throat. “I am behaving, Bilbo, but I will not-"

“Remain a fool, yes, thank you. That is a much needed change.”

“ _Bilbo_. You are not overly fond of interruption yourself - allow me to speak my mind with none,” the king growled at him through his teeth. “If you believe it is safe, then I will trust that, but I will-"

“Cast aside your foolishness, yes, and I thank you dearly for the reassurance,” Bilbo interrupted without a care. When he looked at Thorin and saw how very near he seemed to strangling him, he offered a shrug and turned on his heel, marching to Beorn and sitting down in the soft grass next to him. The king was still glaring at him when he looked back, hands balled into fists at his side, warring between his want to shout and his want to keep his son’s sudden good mood. Dwalin stood behind him, pinching the bridge of his nose with a slight head shake and Nori next to him was looking skyward.

The hobbit felt only slightly guilty that they were likely to be on the receiving end of Thorin’s anger but when the dwarf turned and began to storm back toward his camp, Bilbo nodded in satisfaction. He very much wanted the king to go and release his own frustrations from the past weeks elsewhere - as in far, far away from Folco and their host. Hopefully when he came back he would be less rigid and more accepting of what his son clearly needed.

Beorn chuckled next to him as he watched the retreating dwarves. “Not the best idea to provoke him,” he commented. “But I will not stand in your way if you want to do it. I think he might deserve that.”

“There’s no stopping him, anyhow,” Kili commented as he scratched the ear of the dog now resting its head in his lap. He shot Bilbo a slightly disapproving look. “But I agree that it’s not a good idea to provoke him. Well, fine for you maybe, terrible for us. _You_ aren’t the one who will have extra camp duties now. So thanks for that.”

Bilbo nodded. “You are very welcome, Kili,” he said, smiling at the eye-roll he received. Folco squirmed away from Fili and his mutt, running to his father’s side, placing his hands on his shoulder so he could rock himself up and down on his toes. “My boy?”

Folco glanced over the hobbit’s head at Beorn, eyes wide, before he looked back to Bilbo. “Umm. Can, umm…” he managed, wrinkling his nose and whining his annoyance. “Mister Beorn, sir, can we have some honey cakes, please?” He peered at the skin-changer, torn between lingering fear and the promise of sweets.

“You can little, little bunny. That is, if your father left us any to enjoy!” Beorn said with a slight grin. The hobbit scoffed at him but Folco was beginning to grin in return, giggling his apparent agreement.

“Papa likes honey a whole lot,” he informed him, climbing over Bilbo instead of walking around him like a properly civilized individual, sidling right up to Beorn. “He says we don’t share our honey cakes ‘cause they’re a Bag End secret but it’s just ‘cause he eats them all.” The hobbit buried his face in his hands as the skin-changer let out one his booming laughs. The boy was a traitor.

“He ate all of mine on his last visit! Let us go and see if we have any left or we may be spending a day making them, you and I,” Beorn chuckled before he held his hand out to Folco. “I am needing aid, do you think you can offer it to me?”

The fauntling looked concerned, his lower lip turning down at the corners and showing a row of teeth, his eyebrows at his hairline. “I can try, Mister Beorn, but I don’t think I’m strong enough yet,” he said hesitantly, sweeping his eyes up and down along the large body in front of him. He took in a deep breath as he grabbed the thick wrist of the skin-changer, squaring himself up to help him off the ground. When he gave an almighty tug, Beorn put on a good show, letting out a rumbling grunt as he pulled himself to his feet.

“I’d say that you are very strong for such a little fellow!” he declared as he grinned down at the boy, who simply beamed right back up at him. “Let us go then! See if we can find any honey cakes and a mug of milk while we’re at it!”

Folco cheered his assent and scampered along at the skin-changer’s side as he began to stride toward his house - neither of them looked back. Bilbo swung his gaze to Fili and Kili, his jaw lowered, gesturing wildly behind him. “D-Did you…? Look at that boy! I cannot believe- was he not just scared out of his mind a moment ago?” he cried. “What has gotten into that rascal?”

The brothers glanced at each other before they both began to laugh. “He is a wee you, Bilbo, what did you expect? The promise of food works on you every time as well,” Kili said with a bright grin. “Should’ve had the skin-changer holding a plate of ‘em when we first got here! But _Mahal_ , we need him to come with us until we reach the elf. Him and his pups and his cakes. I don’t care if we have to beg on our hands and knees, if he can work that sort of magic, we need him.”

Fili was fervently nodding his agreement. “We haven’t any idea what to do anymore for the poor lad. We’ll be able to make a proper dwarf of him yet if he keeps going on like this. Should throw him on the Council when we get home, he’ll set everything right in one meeting,” he said, entirely too seriously. “Him and Mum can rule all of Middle Earth together if they wanted.”

Bilbo snorted, running his hands through his hair, not concerned about making it anymore of a mess than it already was. “I don’t doubt it, but I’d ask you wait until he’s at least ten for such hogwash,” he said, pushing himself to his feet with a groan. “Let him learn the ins and outs first. For now, let us all go and hide from your uncle until we can’t help it anymore. I should like a hot bath and an early dinner, perhaps. If you have any requests at all while we’re here, boys, have your cousin take them to Beorn and we’ll make a good time of it yet.”

——

After many, many honey cakes, Beorn showed Bilbo and his fauntling to his bathroom and the rather massive tub in it. Folco’s spirit steadily increased as he was able to wash away the grime in a hot tub and swim in it to his pleasure. His father let him have at it, in part because he wanted the boy to enjoy it and because he was going to do the very same thing. When the bath was finished, he was able to dress the fauntling in his own pajamas - their packs were brought in at some point with some essentials (Thorin) and they were both entirely thrilled that they could sleep in something other than their day clothes.

He let the boy escape into the house and after verifying that Fili and Kili were there to keep an eye on him, Bilbo himself took a hot bath, scrubbing himself pink. When all was said and done, he was dressed in fresh clothes and ventured to join his companions; it was already dinner time. Thorin was there for it and they successfully avoided each other until dusk - apparently the day had worn Folco down quite a bit and he had fallen asleep curled in front of the fireplace. Beorn very kindly offered his bed for the boy and refused to hear any objections, so the hobbit plucked him up and deposited him into the ridiculously massive bed with the dwarf by his side. Not that it mattered much, they only received an incomprehensible mutter from the fauntling before he was asleep again.

Bilbo shuffled by Thorin and ducked outside with his prepared pipe and extra pipeweed, wandering through the garden before he found a blanket of wild daisies. He gladly flopped down into them and lit his pipe, watching the sky begin to turn orange and pink with the slowly setting sun. Bees were still floating around, paying him no mind, and he could hear the sounds of horses, cows, sheep, and pigs. It was altogether peaceful and he rather wished they were staying for more than one night - everyone could use it at this point.

When he heard purposeful footsteps, he cursed himself for staying close to the house - he should have escaped into the trees. The hobbit knew it was Thorin of course, because the dwarf learned to not mask his movements and scare the daylights out of him anymore.

And he didn’t even ask permission to join him, he simply sat heavily down by his side and pulled out his own familiar pipe, beginning to clean it. Bilbo eyed him before he drew in good Old Toby again and looked back toward the sky, the clouds above them beginning to stand out as they grew bright orange, birds skittering across his field of vision as they went to retire for the night themselves.

“I find myself wishing to trade his misery for an orc pack some days,” Thorin said suddenly and wryly. “I am better in that regard and confident that the problem will be dealt with swiftly.”

Bilbo snorted. “I can’t say I blame you but I’d rather never see an orc again in my life. Though you are certainly better at dealing with them, yes,” he agreed, waving his pipe toward the king. “You are driving me mad, Thorin Oakenshield, more mad than any orcs or goblins or trolls could do. I am ready to throw you in a sack like we were once in and leave you there until you calm yourself.”

Thorin sighed, packing his pipe as he glanced at the hobbit. “I’ve noticed,” he muttered with a shake of his head. “Fili and Kili did not travel until they were far older than he is now. I find myself lost when I wish to comfort him and cannot. He’s having nearly as hard of a time as you did.”

“Hah hah,” Bilbo said with a sniff, rolling his eyes as he saw a flash of teeth in a distinct smirk on the king’s face. “Yes and you certainly didn’t garner any experience comforting me the first time around. You made it all the more difficult and do you know what, Thorin? You are doing the same to him with your coddling or when you freely show him your own upset. Perhaps if you, oh I don’t know, unclog your ears of _stubborn_ and listen to me, it might be a bit easier.”

The king lit his pipe and puffed on it, drawing long and deep before he let it back out, visibly relaxing some of the tension in his shoulders. “I know this,” he said after a moment of quiet. “I do. It hurts my heart that this has been so trying for him and I understand it but I wish I could help him more. It’s not easy seeing his tears, Bilbo.”

Bilbo twisted around to look at him more, wrinkling his nose. “Thorin. He’s _five_. There will be many more tears from here on out, so while you have an endless supply of them at your disposal, get _used_ to it, you goat. I know it’s been a long while since your nephews were so young but surely you remember what it was like when they were? Or perhaps you were this terrible with them as well,” he huffed, pointing the stem of his pipe at the dwarf before he puffed on it again.

Thorin let out a breathy chuckle. “I think I may have been,” he said, arching a brow at Bilbo. “But I was able to send them to my sister and not feel guilt for it, no matter what words she spoke in retaliation. Folco is my son and I want nothing more than to comfort him. I know when I am doing well at it and when I am not despite what you may think.”

“But you panic when it’s worse, hmm?” Bilbo stated, rolling his eyes and nudging the king with his elbow. “How about you, you clothead, listen to me when it’s worse and we just may get somewhere by working together? When you’re calm, Thorin, he’s at his best, he really is. When I inform you that you are not calm, I expect you to find it then. Yes?”

The king gave him a sidelong glance before he looked at the pink sky himself. “I will do my best in return, yes,” he agreed easily. “Though I think today was not one that showed of our ability to work together.” Bilbo sniffed.

“Yes, well. I find that I’m not terribly upset by it,” he commented haughtily. “Given the whole driving-me-mad thing. I actually can’t see a way it could have gone any better unless I had kicked you on your shin. That might’ve made it all compete, round it out, you know. Would’ve been very satisfying indeed.”

Thorin did not look impressed. “A good example for Folco, I think,” he said drily, leaning back on one hand. “It can only help our situation.”

“As long as he learns to only kick _you_ , I don’t really see the problem,” Bilbo said, smiling at the displeased huff he received. “Perhaps we can be a bit better about it all. Though that involves listening and communication still, none of which are your strong suits, so again: listen to me. And I will do my very best to not antagonize you around every corner.”

“Not a strong suit of yours either,” Thorin commented lightly, giving him a pointed look. “Though I appreciate it nonetheless. You still know how to drive me mad as well, hobbit, and test my patience.”

Bilbo chuckled. “To be fair, dwarf, that is a very easy thing to do, considering your patience is as fine as a line of spider’s silk,” he teased, waving his pipe in his direction. “Together I’m sure we can either destroy Erebor or perhaps make child rearing a bit easier for ourselves. Either way, an accomplishment fit for the ages will occur.”

The king brushed his arm against the hobbit’s as he shook his head at him, a fond smile on his lips. They went back to watching the sunset taper off, the bright colors of the flowers becoming dim as the shadow of darkness began to fall upon them, the song of the birds around them growing dull. Soon, the only light beyond the rising moon behind them was the faint golden glow coming from Beorn’s windows. Bilbo looked toward the woods and snorted, nudging the dwarf’s arm.

“They find us again,” he observed, jerking his head toward the tree line as fireflies began to glow one by one into a fairly large group, hovering where they were for the moment. Thorin looked and chuckled at the sight of them.

“Ah, they find us in a better moment than last, though,” he said with a self-deprecating grin. “I have to go looking for them in the Mountain if I wish to see them.”

“Do you?”

“What?”

“Go looking for them, of course.”

Thorin shook his head as he turned his gaze back to Bilbo. “No,” he said, quietly now. “I find that they lead only to melancholy due to more than one memory. Though they were in abundance in the Shire and I watched them above your Bywater near the inn some nights. They looked like stars reflecting off the lake, closer and brighter than the ones above us. A beautiful sight.”

Bilbo swallowed. “Yes. Yes, it most definitely is. Folco and I enjoyed very much when they graced our garden. Always a call for a plate of scones or sticky buns,” he said, unable to help but smile as he looked up at the dwarf. The blasted dwarf that was smiling so sweetly back at him. “We should still like to see them, you know. I believe you could form some good memories if you watch them with your son. Hard not to with that boy either way.”

“And you,” Thorin stated as if it were the most obvious and not-at-all complicated thing he could say. “I should very much enjoy that. I find I cannot wait to show him the Mountain the way I showed you. And more, now that we can reach further and it’s safe once again. I hope he loves it as I do and as you once did.”

“Do,” Bilbo corrected. “Even if I haven’t seen it restored I still love it, thank you. He will, as well. He is half dwarf after all and I have a feeling the rock might speak as much to him as the good tilled earth of the Shire does. Eru save us all from a boy that can appreciate both worlds. Now we just need to plant a garden in that rock.”

The king gave what Bilbo could only term a long-suffering sigh. “I’ve told you there are gardens in Erebor. We cannot rely on trade for everything we need, especially fresh herbs. Why do you not believe me on this?” he asked, exasperated and amused all at once. “You never have.”

“Well, how do I know you didn’t lie to butter me up?” Bilbo asked seriously, gesturing between them with his pipe. “You very well could have. I won’t believe that Mountain has gardens until I can see them myself, thank you. Bombur may be able to cook with some herbs and Oin can use them in his work but I’ve never seen any one of you know your way around a garden. In fact, you lot destroyed my recently planted beets! A terrible loss indeed. When I see dwarves on their hands and knees covered in soil I may just believe you then.”

“Hobbit,” Thorin returned, gazing fondly at him. “I will have to prove it to you, then. I expect an apology for your doubts afterward.” Bilbo huffed, setting his pipe aside and waggling his finger at the dwarf.

“We will see about that, Thorin Oakenshield, but surely you won’t blame me if you receive a kick to the shin instead of an apology,” he warned before he scooted closer to the king. He leaned into his side and felt the dwarf stiffen. When he did not relax, Bilbo groaned. “Just keep me comfortable, you ridiculous oaf. I’m not trying to find a way to shimmy a dagger into your back.”

Thorin hesitated still and when he received a glare from the hobbit, he tentatively wrapped his arm around his shoulders and pulled him into his ever warm side. “I thought nothing like it,” he murmured. “I would have noticed if you were armed in any way.”

Bilbo laughed, resting his head against the king, sliding his left hand across his lap and offering it to him. Thorin took it without hesitation and the hobbit counted to four before he felt him nosing into his hair. Predictable fool of a dwarf. “I’ve become quite savvy in that type of thing, you know, I believe I could surprise you with a nice stabbing yet,” he said and received a squeeze to his hand for his troubles. “Now hush and let me enjoy some peace and quiet. I haven’t had any of it since Rivendell.”

The hobbit felt Thorin’s rumble of agreement and bit down on his tongue when a familiar cheek rested atop his head. He knew it, yes, he knew it very well; it was a terrible idea but on an already terrible journey, could he not partake in a bit of selfishness himself?

They stayed curled together until the moon was fairly high in the sky and Bilbo could no longer see far into their surroundings. The hobbit declared it time for bed and offered his hand to Thorin, the dwarf taking it and standing alongside him. On their way back to Beorn’s, they passed under a large oak tree, branches gnarled and some low enough to the ground to sit atop of and possibly nap on. It was a wild looking thing and the hobbit felt a surge of longing to see his own growing above Bag End - a tree of many, many memories.

Thorin caught his gaze and stilled him with a hand to his elbow, eyes sweeping over the oak before he looked back to Bilbo. “You have love for oaks,” he stated with a lopsided smile. It fell away not a moment later and the king’s eyebrows turned down. “You did not plant yours. In your garden.”

The hobbit certainly heard the question in it. “No,” he agreed, shrugging a shoulder. “But I _did_ plant it. Somewhat out of, er, emotional distress but I don’t regret it.” At the dwarf’s arched eyebrows, he smiled. “In Dale, just a few days before I left.”

The king frowned at him, taking his hand and softly squeezing it before a sudden look of realization colored his features. “The courtyard. In the city square,” he murmured. At Bilbo’s startled expression, it was his turn to smile. “It’s growing. I saw it a year past when I met with the Bowman. When I first laid eyes upon it, a sapling oak, I thought myself foolish for wondering if your hands may have put it there. I believed my sorrow caused the thought. It seems I was wrong.”

Bilbo blinked twice at him and cleared his throat. “O-Oh. Oh dear, I suppose you were. I have to admit I didn’t think it could possibly take given the state of Dale. Thought it might not grow or that it might be pulled before it could get past a sprout. I’m- goodness, that actually makes me very glad,” he said, managing a chuckle. “I would very much like to see it. Perhaps I should grab another acorn while we’re here and see if we can get it to grow somewhere around Erebor, hmm? From what I recall, I saw the remains of many trees in front of the southern gates and I’m sure the ground isn’t so sour anymore. What do you think?”

Thorin apparently thought that a very splendid idea with the way he was grinning like a fool at him. “Life is coming back to the lands around the Mountain, aye. I think that would be a fitting place for an oak such as this,” he said, raising his eyes to look at Beorn’s. “It would remain for many long lifetimes. I would be glad to see it there.”

“Well then, there you shall see it,” Bilbo said definitively, nodding. “Don’t let me forget to grab an acorn tomorrow.” The hobbit was not sure he would remember much of anything when he woke given the way Thorin was staring at him, the ring of dark blue surrounding the lighter shade of his eyes standing out all the more under the moonlight.

They continued to gaze at each other before Bilbo lowered his eyes to the king’s collar, swallowing past a dry throat as he reached for it, grasping the material in his fist and tugging. It didn’t take much coaxing for Thorin to oblige, his hands finding the hobbit’s hips as he lowered his forehead to press against Bilbo’s. They stayed like that and the hobbit found some comfort in the fact that the king’s breathing was just as shaky as his own.

Bilbo turned his head up and brushed his nose against Thorin’s and the dwarf wasted no time capturing his lips, his hands sliding to the small of the hobbit’s back, pulling him against a solid chest. Their first kiss was a soft, chaste thing, simply there to help find each other for the first time in nearly six years. They only parted for a moment as the hobbit wrapped his arms tight around the king’s neck and after a sweet brush of lips, a silent agreement to deepen it passed between them. Thorin’s hand found his way to cupping the back of Bilbo’s head and he turned them, pressing the hobbit’s back against the oak, drawing a sharp inhale from both.

The king let his hobbit lead and the hobbit was perfectly alright with that. He parted his lips and nipped at Thorin’s bottom one until the dwarf did the same and their tongues met halfway. Bilbo allowed the king to venture further into his own mouth, sliding his hands into ever familiar silky hair, tasting dwarven pipeweed and smelling campfire smoke on him. Everything about it was familiar and it was warming him straight to his toes, which were curling against the ground and betraying him. They lost themselves in their kiss and it wasn’t until Thorin let out a broken groan against his mouth that Bilbo froze.

He pulled back, breathing heavy, and his eyes locked onto blue ones, which were already growing concerned. “Thorin,” he whispered, confusion beginning to cloud his mind and worry coiling in his belly. “I-I, well- Thorin, I’m not entirely certain- ah…”

Thorin pressed his fingertips into the hobbit’s back, eyes searching his and Bilbo didn’t miss the slight desperation seeping into them. “Bilbo,” he said softly, reassuring for both of them. “Tell me.”

Tell him. Well. Considering he didn’t know exactly what he wanted to tell, it wasn’t particularly easy to get words past his lips. “Well, Thorin,” he tried, “I think that maybe, perhaps, this isn’t a very good idea. Actually, I’m completely sure it’s not and I already rather regret letting us get to this point. I can’t just- I can’t do this. I simply can’t. This is too much, far too much, and I don’t think I can handle anymore than I already am right now.”

The look of desperation was sliding into grief on the king’s face but there was also a hint of resignation. “I would not add to your stress,” he said ever so cautiously, frowning, his heavy brow turned down. “But I would gladly ease your burden, if you would allow such a thing.”

Bilbo laughed and was taken aback when it came out wet, much to his own frustration. He sniffed. “Thorin, you would hardly ease any burdens I have. You’d only add to them,” he said, heart clenching at the look of hurt that flashed across the dwarf’s face. “You must understand. We’ve still got nearly- nearly two weeks of travel ahead of us if everything goes the way it should, which it probably won’t. And that’s just to get to Erebor. And then after that, we have- well, we have _Erebor!_ Everything that comes with that alone is enough for me to think about and I have Folco to worry about. He’ll need us both to help him make a home there and I can’t have myself distracted with you on the forefront of my mind. It’s not fair to anyone. And, Thorin, I’m also simply not sure I could _do_ it again.”

“I understand your concerns,” Thorin implored straight away. “I do, Bilbo, and I would never ask for you to cast them aside for myself. But you must know you need not worry about the pains of the past repeating themselves. It could never happen again. You won’t find any hurt from me. You will find happiness in Erebor, this I am sure of, but I would ask you to trust that you could find happiness with me as well. It need not be now and I will continue to show you my change for the rest of my life. I know I should not ask nor do I deserve it, but I would have you at my side. I will not hurt you again.”

The hobbit watched as the king spoke and it felt much like someone was taking an icy pike to his heart. He shook his head. “You already have, Thorin,” he whispered, sniffling and pressing back against the tree as he dropped his arms to his sides. “Since the moment that blasted raven landed on my fence I’ve found myself a bit worse for wear because of you again. Not that I’m angry about all of it but look at what it took for you to even come to me. I’ve spent a very long time hiding the worst of it from Folco but it doesn’t mean I haven’t felt it. I’d like to think I would give anything to be by your side again but my heart is reminding me that I’ve already done that once before.”

Thorin began to look so entirely wrecked by his words that Bilbo found he could no longer look at him. He heard an aggressive sniff from the dwarf himself, obviously trying to rein in his own emotions and find his words.

“Bilbo,” he managed hoarsely. “I cannot force you to believe in me or my intentions. I can only continue to tell you the past will not repeat itself and I would show you the love I have for you - my great joy in becoming a whole family with you and our son. I dream of it every day. If you do decide to think on it, I will always be there as you will always hold my heart. I will accept it if it does not come to be as having you both in the Mountain is something I know I don’t deserve but I am blessed to have. I should not ask for more, please forgive me for doing so.” Thorin took a step back from him so he was no longer crowding the hobbit against the oak tree.

Bilbo gave a great sigh and rubbed his hands along his face, breathing in deeply. “No, you don’t need to ask for forgiveness, Thorin. I believe I was half involved here and for that I’m sorry. I shouldn’t tug you back and forth,” he muttered, admonishing himself for being too cowardly to look at the dwarf still. He simply couldn’t bring himself to see the heartbreak he knew would be there. “Let’s just get to Erebor, first and foremost, make sure we survive that. Maybe we can talk more about this when everything has settled and become routine. Yes, um, I think that’s the best we can do for now. And if you don’t mind, I’m going to go to bed now, ah, it’s rather late.”

He didn’t have to look at Thorin to see him swallow - it was very audible. “It is,” the king agreed, sounding more than weary. “You can speak with me whenever you wish, Bilbo. Get some sleep and I will see you in the morning.”   
  
Bilbo cleared his throat and began to inch away. “Right. Right. Yes, I’ll see you then. Good night, Thorin, and try to get some sleep yourself,” he managed, making to lift his hand to pat the dwarf on the shoulder before he thought better of it.

Instead, he turned and hastened across the garden, reaching the door to Beorn’s home and sliding inside as if the sanctuary of it might force his newfound ill feelings to keep out. It did not. Bilbo forewent his nightclothes and joined Folco, still so very sound asleep in Beorn’s bed, and knew it would be long before he joined the boy. Thorin didn’t return to the house and he forced himself to hold in his tears, much like he had been doing for five years past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Omg omg omg this chapter has fanart of the firefly scene, my heart, I can't. The wonderful [LittleMagicFox](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxcenrel19/pseuds/LittleMagicFox) is an Amazing Person. Thank you so much!!
> 
> FIND IT HERE: [Fireflies](http://littlemagicfox.tumblr.com/post/150571541862/we-will-see-about-that-thorin-oakenshield-but)
> 
> I wonder where Folco gets his dramatics from. Comments are very welcome and appreciated! Thank you for reading. :)
> 
> [My tumblr if you feel like chattin'!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


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